Today has been a day full of ups and downs. I have only five more radiation treatments and tomorrow will be my radiation friend’s last day. We decided to have coffee today and just sit and talk. This is the second time we have gotten together and it really made my day. But I cannot lie, I feel a deep sadness – she has walked me through this part of my journey and I will feel lost without her. I am happy that she will be finished and moving on to the next phase of treatment.

I wish I could describe what it feels like to be able to share with her. We laugh a lot because we have realized that we have some of the same thoughts during our treatment. I thought I was the only one who counted the seconds during each treatment. If I counted too fast and the treatment went for 18 seconds instead of the usual 14, I would be in a panic. What do you do – roll off the table if the thing doesn’t stop? It was just funny to know that she had the same thoughts and feelings I was having.

I guess from the outside we look very different. She is very petite and beautiful and I am anything but petite. She did not go through chemo so she still has her hair and I am bald (more of a fuzzy bald now). She has been married for 33 years and has an adult daughter. I am gay, have no children, and have not been able to make a relationship last anywhere close to that long. But somehow in this crazy world we have come together to carry each other through this storm.

She began saying to me, “For all our differences . . .” My mind stopped at those words and I looked at her and said, “I don’t see any differences.” To which she replied, “ . . . we have the same heart.” And she is right. We have the same heart. It is not very often in life that you meet someone who has the same heart. It has been such a joyous experience to share life stories with her – an experience of total acceptance and love. I have made a lifelong friend. And I would have missed this beautiful friendship had it not been for my cancer. Again, I am choosing to look at this whole experience as a blessing instead of a dreadful disease.

My life is a thousand times richer since this journey began. I have changed and my world has changed. While I am writing this I am listening to Iris DeMent and I want to share these lines from her song, “The Kingdom Has Already Come”:

I stopped in the church to pray,

It was the middle of the day

And I don’t even know if I believe in God

But I laid my soul on the table

and left that place believing I was able

to pull back the curtain old fears had drawn

This is what has happened for me: The curtain has been pulled back and all those old fears have been exposed. And now – NOW – it is time to live. Facing each day head on, looking it in the eyes, surviving. You know, suddenly that word does not mean the same thing to me anymore. Hell no, I don’t just want to survive. I want to conquer and live – live a life that is beyond my every dream. And now I can, thanks to all of your love and support.

Now, for my radiation friend. Beth, thank you for carrying me and supporting me through this time. It will be difficult not seeing you on a daily basis, but you will be in my thoughts. I want you to know that you are a WARRIOR and you will be fine. Love you.

This morning before radiation, I was checking Facebook and found this quote by Ernest Hemingway:

“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”

This is how I want to live my life – to be present in every moment. It is hard to do, though. I get busy with life and work and forget to savor each moment. Because once a moment passes you will never get it back. It is gone forever, lost if you are not aware enough to live it.

I have talked quite a bit about my walk in the park after radiation. It was really amazing today; I felt my whole mood and body change as soon as I put my foot on the walking path in the park. It was like my body and mind were finally able to exhale. I love having the park; it is one of the only places where I can live in the moment.

Last Thursday was the first time I noticed it; my eyes, heart, and soul just soaked up all the beautiful colors, sounds, and smells. I wanted to stay in the park forever. It was on this day that I realized how important it is to be where my body is. For the first time, I understood that nothing stays the same. I will walk in this park on other days, but each day will be a new experience. I will never experience the same moments twice: the sunlight striking the leaves will be different, the squirrel will not run across my path with an acorn in his mouth, the sun will not warm my face in the same way, the spider web will not catch the sunlight in the exact same way. I will never have those moments back, but that is okay because I was truly alive and I lived in that moment.

Today I had a different experience when I was walking in the park. I was surrounded by the same beauty, but my solitude was suddenly interrupted by two ambulances with sirens blaring. All of a sudden, I felt such deep sadness. My moment of peacefulness and joy might be someone’s moment of heartache and pain. As I really thought about this, I realized that although time is the same for all of us, we experience each second of the day differently. It is hard for me to think about: the ups and downs we each must go through in life.

People amaze me. It is hard for me to understand how some people keep going after tragedy strikes their life. How do they get through – what makes them keep going – how do the tears ever stop? I never know what someone is going through as I pass them on the street or at the market. Maybe their day has been wonderful and they are filled with joy. But maybe their day, week, month, year, or entire life has not been wonderful. They might be struggling through sickness, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, or barely bringing home enough money to survive. I will never know, and judging someone’s insides by what I see on the outside isn’t accurate or fair. From this perspective, I guess my journey should be about treating everyone equally, with loving kindness. It really does not take a whole lot of my time or energy to smile and say hello to the people I meet. I am not sure it makes a difference to them, but it definitely makes a difference to me.

I wrote most of this entry earlier this week. I have had so many experiences I want to share with you, but when I get home from work it is all I can do to take care of the animals and feed myself. I have not been able to focus on writing and that has been hard for me. I only have nine more radiation treatments. I really can see the end now, and it feels good. Radiation has not been the breeze I was hoping for, though; my left breast and underarm look horrible. I have bruising and redness and I am having some difficulty moving my left arm.

I was thinking this morning that I really need to throw on the armor to get through these last treatments, but my body is so weary that I don’t think I can support the armor. So please help me once again; help me finish these last few steps of this treatment journey.

I love you all.

I am sitting in one of the patient rooms waiting to see the radiation oncologist. I see him every Tuesday so this is just routine. He is a very nice, soft-spoken man and a good doctor. My whole experience from diagnosis to radiation has been filled with kind caring doctors, nurses, and technicians. I have been blessed.

As I near the end of my treatment, I am overwhelmed with emotions. I am elated to begin my new journey with eyes, heart, and soul wide open. I feel my heart bubbling over with joy. But for the first time, I finally admitted out loud to another person that I am scared. I said it to Sylvia a few nights ago and to my radiation partner yesterday. Both times, tears flooded my eyes.

I am not looking for the worst to happen, but for some reason I feel I must be prepared. When I was first getting sober, my sponsor had a cancer scare. I was terrified – she had become so important in my life. In a panic I called another woman in recovery to tell her about my fear. She asked simply, “What is the worst that can happen?” I said the worst would be if my sponsor died. The woman on the other end of the phone asked, “If that happens, will you have to take a drink?” My response was no. I have used this throughout my life: What is the worst that can happen? And I think that is what I am doing now.

So what is the worst that can happen??? Well, the cancer could come back. What will I do? I will fight and I will continue to fight. The worst, of course, would be death. What will I do? Die – but not before I have used up every last little bit of the life in this body. I have got some living to do and now is the time. I will deal with tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.

Being scared, for me, always has to do with the unknown. But isn’t the unknown just part of living? It is the unknown – the things that reach up and slap you in the face and the things that bring you untold joy – that makes life worth living. We cannot see around corners and we cannot know what will happen tomorrow, or even in the next second, for that matter. We just have to live, riding the waves of elation and stumbling through the briars of sadness and loss.

After I left radiation today I took my usual walk around the park. It was a beautiful morning, nice and cool, and fall is in the air. Today I didn’t just stand and look at that big oak tree; I walked over to it and touched it. I put my hand against its bark and stood with my hand there for a few moments. I wanted to be part of it, to know that when I am dead and gone, this tree will still be here and because I have touched it – so will I. We are all connected: plants, animals, earth. We depend on each other. Imagine a world with no trees or flowers, no beauty to touch your heart and make you smile. It would be a depressing world.

Well, I am still scared – but that is also okay. Fear is just another emotion. Once you take it out and look at it, some of its power is taken away. All of you have given me strength and support throughout this battle and I know if I need to call on you again, you will be there. Because just like the plants, animals, and earth, we are all connected. We depend on each other for survival and support.

Thank you for being there for me and allowing me to depend on you.

I guess you remember that in my last post, I wrote about how important it is for me to experience all the feelings that have come up on this journey. The last post was full of sadness and I talked about the fine line that seems to separate joy and sadness for me. Well, I am happy to report that the last two days have been incredible for me. I am beginning to catch glimpses of my old self–or maybe I should say my new self. I know I’m in the same body but my mind, body, heart, and soul have been changed by this journey. I would never wish this diagnosis on anyone, but now I can see that it truly has been a blessing for me.

So now you may be thinking I’m completely certifiable. How could this pain, sickness, sadness, and depression actually be a blessing in my life? I can tell you: it’s because I am weird like that. It is these times that force me to go outside myself and find out what I’m really made of. There’s a quote that expresses this for me: “You never know how strong you can be until being strong is your only option.” For me, this strength is not something I have found by myself. This experience is showing me that real strength requires being brave enough to say, “I am scared and I cannot do this alone.”

During this journey, I have opened myself up and let you ride this rollercoaster with me. It has been a ride, all right, but one made easier by each of you. I have also had some incredible people open themselves up to me, and that has truly been a blessing for me. I long to know the deep parts of other people’s hearts and souls. And I am so fortunate that this journey has allowed me to get to know people I otherwise would never have had the chance to meet. Just like my alcoholism, this cancer diagnosis has changed my life forever, and I am grateful.

Yesterday when I went to radiation, I got to spend a few minutes with my wonderful new friend. Going through radiation with her just makes it all seem okay. I really struggled with the idea of inviting her to read my blog. We just seemed so different on the outside, and I was scared that she would judge me and then not feel comfortable around me.

Well, that just goes to show how much I know. She has been incredible, encouraging me and suggesting that I turn this blog into a play. I look forward to seeing her each day and I feel like I have gained a forever friend. Yesterday I gave her a Warrior t-shirt, and today she gave me Joan Didion’s book, The Year of Magical Thinking, because she thinks my blog has the same feel to it.

As I was leaving radiation yesterday, I felt like Snow White. She is the one with all the butterflies and birds following her around, right?  Anyway, I walked out the door and there was a Luna moth fluttering in the shrubs. I stood and watched it for a few minutes and felt so connected to this earth. Lately I have been walking in a small park adjacent to Athens Regional. I was so blessed to watch a dragonfly flutter by on my way to the park. Then I watched the chipmunks and squirrels living their lives right in front of my eyes. I saw a squirrel run up a tall pine tree and watched as tiny pieces of pine bark floated to the ground. Right there, in that moment, I felt truly alive. I did not want to be anywhere else or be anyone else.

Today I again made my way to the park after radiation. I saw my dragonfly and also a few squirrels and chipmunks. But what stopped me in my tracks today was a huge oak tree. I just stood there and looked at it. Beautiful!!! It was there living its life too, and has been for who knows how long. Whenever I see a beautiful old tree, I think of the things it must have experienced in its lifetime. It’s impossible to imagine living 200 years or more. Just think of how many hands have touched it, and how many children have climbed its branches. I wonder how many romantic kisses it has witnessed or how many tears have fallen under its canopy. I felt blessed just to be in its presence.

So that has been my incredible journey over the last two days. After reading this you will definitely think I am due for a mental health check-up; you’ll be happy to know I had that yesterday too.

I hope you will be patient with me as I open myself up to my new world. As I look out my window, my eyes still see the same old world but my heart is exploding with possibilities. This has been the year life kicked me in the shins with pointy-toed cowboy boots, but guess what? All of you have carried me through and helped me to the other side. I wish I could convey to you how much that means to me, and how much all of you have helped me–to begin becoming the real me, and to start seeing the world through a new perspective.

Get ready, world. Here I come!

Sadness. That is what I am feeling now. I have been feeling this way for the last few days. Why? I can’t really tell you. I saw this quote on Facebook the other day and it made so much sense to me.

“I Have Restless Soul Syndrome.”

That is just so me. I look around at other people and from the outside they look so content and settled with their lives. Whereas I am always questioning, wondering, seeking . . . Again, why? I don’t know. I think it would be nice to live a life that didn’t involve the soul searching and the constant seeking of answers. But then again, I don’t really think that is the life I want to lead.

I spend my life striving to understand the way I operate in this world. I am not perfect – never claimed to be. I like the person I am (most of the time, anyway), but it is not easy being me. I’ve said this before – I feel things very deeply. I’m not sure if that is a fault or not, because allowing myself to feel deeply lets in a lot of joy but also a lot of sadness.

This journey I began when I got my cancer diagnosis has been filled with many wonderful things. I have met incredible people: doctors, nurses, and fellow warriors. This has been an amazing time in my life, and I have learned so much and gained insight I would never have reached otherwise. I feel blessed to have truly amazing friends and family in my life. This has made the journey so much easier for me.

But this journey has also taken a toll on me, and I think this overwhelming sadness is my way of grieving. I don’t think I’ve really had time to grieve until now. First was the surgery, then trying to live through the chemo – this is really the first chance I’ve had to realize what the hell has been going on these last few months. And I am sad.

I met the most wonderful woman who is going through radiation with me. She started her radiation a few days before I did, so I am able to ask her questions and watch how the treatments are affecting her. I hate going to radiation but I love that she is there every morning with a great big smile. Her smile just makes you feel good.

Today when I got to radiation she was already in the treatment room. I was in the waiting area when I heard her in the hallway. Before she could even see me she said, “Melissa, I am a mess.”  She was in tears and I just hugged her. Her cat had gotten outside and had been killed. I felt so sad for her I could have sat down right there with her and cried. We had already talked about how important animals are in our lives. I could still just cry.

Animals bring so much comfort to us with their kind, sweet spirits; they are little angels who touch our lives for such short periods of time. They are part of the family, and we love them as family. I think they touch us in a way no human can. They love us unconditionally and we are blessed to be able to care for and love them in return. We open our hearts to them. We gain so much from the experience and it hurts like hell when we lose them.

I think most of life’s experiences are like this; we cannot feel joy unless we are willing to suffer through loss and sadness. Some people decide they cannot take the pain that comes with loss, and never walk that road again. But for me, the pain of loss is nothing compared to the joy life has to offer us. It would be wonderful if all we ever felt was joy and happiness, but how would we appreciate or even recognize those emotions if we hadn’t also suffered through pain and sadness?

Like all feelings, this sadness and grieving will pass. The most important thing for me right now is to allow myself to feel all these feelings. I have tried to put a lot of positive energy into this battle. I have battled and I am tired, and with that tiredness comes the realization that my life has changed forever. You know how when you were a child or a teenager, death just didn’t seem to be able to touch you? Then you lost a friend, or maybe a pet, and wow – that was a slap in the face. Well, I have been slapped in the face again.

We all say to each other that life can change in the blink of an eye. I have said it before and known it was true, but now I have truly been confronted by my own mortality. Have you ever really thought about what you would do if you knew you would die soon? It is something I am thinking about: What would be the most important thing for me to do, the thing that would put me at peace? It is hard to know, but right now I think the most important thing for me would be to let the people I love know how much they mean to me. It would be important for me to spend time with my animals and with nature. I am trying to do that now – because I do not know what will happen tomorrow or the next day.

All of you who have supported and encouraged me during this time – thank you. You are the most amazing family and friends that anyone could ever ask for. My battle has been made so much easier because of you and your love. Enjoy each day – hug a friend – smile at a stranger – encourage a child – you never know how much it can mean to someone in need. I read something one time that said, “Always smile at a child, because they need to know that there is goodness in this world.” That is what you all have done for me. This has been the year from hell but you have shown me that there is goodness in the world. Thank you!

It is only 10:30 a.m., but I already feel overwhelmed. I am trying to ease back into working a few hours every day, but my body is rebelling. I am trying to get things pulled together but it seems they just keep unraveling. Or maybe it is me who is finally unraveling.

Today has been a difficult one for me. I have been experiencing hot flashes for a while; they increased during chemo, but since starting the Tamoxifen they have reached a whole new level. My temperature ranges from freezing cold to living in hell. I can go from shivering one minute to having beads of sweat popping out all over my bald head with the rest of my body on fire. This continues throughout the day and night, so getting enough sleep is difficult.

I think the lack of sleep plus the mental and emotional roller coaster are finally catching up with me. This morning during my radiation treatment, I think I felt more alone than I ever have. Being alone in the room – lying there on the table – staring at the ceiling – listening to the buzz of the instrument – I thought I was going to start crying. Not just little tears but big, sobbing, hard-to-catch your breath crying.

Then I thought about the techs who were behind the closed door running the instrument and I pulled myself together. Since I was already at the hospital I did not want to give them any reason to send me on up to the mental health ward. But even later in the day, the sadness has veiled my heart and I feel alone.

I think one reason the radiation is hard for me is because I am alone. Lying there with one breast uncovered while the radiation works its magic, I feel vulnerable and exposed. During chemo, Lorene sat there with me and nurses were in and out of the room. The time was filled with lots of conversations and laughter. The radiation treatment does not take much time at all, but during that time I am alone with just my thoughts. It is hard just staring at the ceiling, and I am still somewhat in disbelief that this (cancer) has happened in my life. Sometimes it is really hard to wrap my head around the whole situation.

I will go back tomorrow and for the next 24 treatments. Maybe I should grab that coat of armor and wrap myself in it. I don’t know; I suppose this time of feeling raw, vulnerable, and exposed might be part of the healing process. I prefer the warrior role – the battling role. But all good warriors need time to heal.

I know I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again: I love music. Mainly I love music that has great lyrics. Any kind of music – if the words touch my heart, I can listen to it. It must be so fulfilling to be a songwriter. I have always loved music and as a child it allowed me to slip into my own little world.

My mom and dad had this big stereo and I loved listening to their records. I would put on Marty Robbins and act out all the songs, like “Big Iron,” “El Paso,” and “The Strawberry Roan.” I also loved listening to Connie Frances, but my favorite even as a kid was Hank Williams – not Jr., but his dad. I loved the lyrics and related to them even then. Believe it or not, my favorite song as a kid was, “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”  Weird, right? Just goes to show that I have been me for a long, long time.

I remember when I was a kid my mom asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said, “A town and country singer.”  My sister started laughing because I meant country and western singer. My mom was sweet; she didn’t laugh. I have always loved music, but unfortunately I never learned to play an instrument. And now that I’m an adult, I am still drawn to words and music that speak straight to my soul.

As I was leaving radiation today, I started listening to a Neil Young CD. I love so many of his songs but one particular line in the song “Unknown Legend” just blows me away. He sings,

“Somewhere on a desert highway, she rides a Harley-Davidson
Her long blonde hair flyin’ in the wind
She’s been runnin’ half her life, the chrome and steel she rides
Colliding with the very air she breathes, the air she breathes.”

I love that last line. I think it is amazing: “Colliding with the very air she breathes.”  We all listen to music and it speaks to us in different ways. I have always loved that line. When I think about the lyrics, I can see myself where I am today.

I have spent half my life or more running and colliding with the air I breathe. Running from what?  I am not sure, but I think from myself. Many years ago, I was sitting with my “Aunt” Frances and I told her I could not help thinking that what I am—gay—is wrong in God’s eyes. She looked at me and said, “You are one of God’s children. He loves you.”  That made me feel so much better about myself, and after that I never really had questions about God anymore.

I think I have lived a lot of my adult life shielding the people in my life from really knowing me. I often think of an Anne Bancroft line from Torch Song Trilogy: “You cheated me out of your life and then blamed me for not being there.”

To some extent, I think this is what I have done to the people in my life. I have cheated family and friends out of knowing me and out of my life, then somehow blamed them for the distance this created. I was so freaked when a friend from my hometown of Waynesboro, Mary Dee, started taking herding lessons here in Athens. I have always wanted to distance myself from Waynesboro. Once I left, that was it for me – it was history.

But reconnecting with Mary Dee has been a real healing process for me. She has been such a true friend and so supportive during my battle with cancer. And really, so many of my friends from Waynesboro have surprised me with their love and support. Thank you all, and I am so sorry I cut you out of my life without giving you a chance to really know me. I have had the rug pulled out from under me so many times, I guess I believed that is what would always happen if I allowed people to really know me.

So where do I go from here? In the last post, I talked about the joy I get from really knowing people. Yet I have been hiding who I am from others because of my fear of losing people. There is a reason for this fear: I have lost people in my life because of who I am. That has scarred me and led me to put a wall around my heart. I think this is also part of the reason why, in relationships, I try to rescue people; if I save people, they will need me and not push me away. But that is not what relationships are about.

It is hard for me to believe that through this cancer treatment, I found writing. And through this writing, I am finding myself. I guess this writing is my way of knocking down the wall down around my heart and letting all of you really know me. Your response, and your support, have been amazing. Thank you.

Okay – so I guess I am in one of those places again. I feel like my arms and legs are stretched across the opening of a deep dark hole, and I am trying so hard not to fall in. I really never know where this comes from; I just turn around and there it is. As I have said many times before, this is my life: dealing with this balance between joy and depression.

When I have a clear head and my heart is full, I can look at my life and know there is no reason in the world why I should be depressed. I know I did not have the best experiences as a child, but I can look at them now through adult eyes and understand. At times, things come up in my life and I revert back to that scared little girl, ready to run but too afraid to run. But now it is time to try and accept the whole person that I am.

I often wonder how other people feel and how they experience life. I have spent my whole life in this body and I only know life through my own experiences. I do not know if other people have the same issues and questions. But even though we all live through different experiences, I wonder if at that deep place inside of us we all have the same questions, the same deep inner thoughts. Or am I just a freak?

I am always interested in finding out about other people. How they grew up, what that was like for them, and how it affected who they are today. Both from being in a recovery program and through work, I have met people from all walks of life and from many different countries and cultures. And I love to ask questions. I often tell people, “If you don’t feel comfortable with all the questions, just let me know.”  Someone once told me I’m just nosy, but I don’t think that’s it. I just have a desire to really get to know people on a deeper level. I am not a person to talk about the weather – I want to know you.

Again, I will say that life is short. Why waste it walking through life isolated from other people? We all live and we all die – those are things we do have in common. And refusing to get to know someone because of their color, religion, culture, gender, or sexual orientation is really shortchanging ourselves. There are loads of beautiful, wonderful, kind, caring people out there. It is so true that you can’t judge a book by its cover; you have to be willing to go that extra step to open that cover and maybe turn the first few pages.

I don’t really know what I have just written, but I know that I am feeling better. So remember that the people you run into today may just need a smile and a “How you doing?” I will try to remember this and not get so caught up in myself and my own little world that I cannot take time to look into a stranger’s eyes and say hello. At least I can do that today. I may not solve the world’s problems, but I can at least be where my body is at each moment of the day, and be a part of my own life.

So – I have completed six days of radiation and I am still not glowing. And I only have 30 more to go. The radiation itself is not bad at all. After getting to the hospital, it takes about 10 minutes to park, get changed, have the treatment, change again, then head out for the rest of my day.  But I have to tell you the radiation really freaks me out.

The radiation treatment is called “external beam radiation.” It is similar to an x-ray but this type of radiation is much more intense. I think the part that really freaks me out is that you cannot see anything happening during the treatment. The technicians leave the room and shut the door. The room is made of six inches of concrete and lead. They monitor you with video cameras and the technicians can hear you the whole time – but I still find it creepy.

You know, one reason I have always loved biology is because it is something I can see and touch. With the chemo treatments, at least I could see the I.V. and sort of understand what was happening inside my body. Radiation reminds me too much of chemistry. I never did very well in chemistry because I cannot see electrons, protons, and neutrons. I cannot see electrons being shared between elements. It is not like biology – chemistry is just too weird for me. I am supposed to just believe that electrons orbit the nucleus and all that jazz? Well, that is the way I feel about radiation. I can’t see it, so I have no idea what those energized x-rays are doing!

My body has been healing every day. Some days I feel really good but other days the fatigue is still there. I am trying not to rush things, but it is hard for me. It is hard not to have the energy to do things that I usually do for myself. I am so blessed to have such wonderful friends and family. I cannot imagine what this would have been like for me without such love and support.

I am trying to get it together in other ways also. I have been feeling down emotionally for a while. I think that is the reason I haven’t been writing. I’m not sure if everyone feels this way, but I feel that I am not fulfilling my purpose here on earth. I still don’t know what that purpose might be. I truly would like to leave this world a better place. I’m not sure what direction my life is going, but I feel a true longing to find out. I’ve said it many times already in this blog – life is short. To quote one of my favorite lines from a Mary Gauthier song:

“A lifetime ain’t no time at all.”

Isn’t that the truth?  No time at all, so I guess I better start figuring out what I’m supposed to be doing here. I know learning and living, but there has to be more, like serving, helping, and adding to this world, not just taking up space.

If any of you have this whole thing – life – figured out, how about giving this girl a holler and giving me a clue!

Today has been quite the day. I started my radiation and hormone therapy today. I know most of you are probably tired of hearing me whine, but I feel like my body has been through hell and back. And in a way I guess it has been. I feel like I could  sit down and cry. I guess I am just overwhelmed with things I need to do and by trying to get back to work.

To be honest, this still feels like a dream . . . like it is happening to someone else and I am just watching. I still find myself thinking that all of this just cannot be real. You know – this stuff happens to other people, not to me. But deep down I know it is real; more real than pretty much anything else I have gone through.

I am really battling with fatigue right now. I went to work for four hours yesterday and this morning I felt like I had been run over by a train. My legs feel like the day after running a long race. They do not seem to have any strength, and they feel shaky most of the time. I guess I thought the effects of chemo would just magically disappear once the treatments were completed, despite being warned by my cousin Nancy Pat that after the chemo was over it would take a while for my body to recover.

Lorene went with me to my radiation oncology appointment today. The appointment lasted for about 30 minutes. Since it was my first treatment, I again had to be measured and now I have even more blue lines and crosses on my breast. The technicians were great and now the daily appointments should only be about 10 minutes. I also started taking tamoxifen (hormone treatment) today. So I have officially started the next phase of this journey.

Last week, I had an appointment with the social worker at Northeast Georgia Cancer Care. She was very helpful and informative. She told me other cancer survivors have said it takes six months to a year to get back to pre-chemo energy levels and strength. So I know I should not be so hard on myself; I need to give myself some time to get back my mojo.

Okay, Athens girls: If any of you can help me this weekend that would be great. My house and my yard are about to overtake me. I wish I had the energy to get it all together over here but I don’t, so any help would be greatly appreciated.

I love all of you. Thanks for your support and for reading.