So that’s it. I am done. Surgery, chemo, and radiation behind me now. I noticed the lump in my breast in late January, was diagnosed on March 15, had surgery in April, and four chemo treatments and 36 radiation treatments later, how do I feel???  Empty. Sad. Tired. Alone.

As my friend Sandy has said, I was on the cancer treatment conveyor belt and now I have been dumped off at the end of the line. It really is hard to know how I truly feel. All this time I’ve been surrounded by doctors, nurses, technicians, family, and friends, all working toward one goal: to rid my body of cancer. Hopefully, it has worked – time will tell.

My friend Lorene met me at radiation this morning. It was hard saying goodbye to the wonderful women who have helped me through my treatments. They have been so supportive and kind. Once I finished my treatment, I had Lorene take a photo of me with these women. I will cherish this photo because this experience has been so meaningful to me. I have seen these same women five days a week for a total of 36 treatments; you cannot help but form a bond.

After radiation, guess what I did? You guessed it – I went for a walk in the park. It was beautiful as always and again I could not help myself; I had to take some photos. Lorene took a photo of me kissing that big beautiful oak tree. I will miss my walks in that park but I will visit it again when I need to find some peace.

After the park we went to Ike and Jane’s. This is the little coffee shop where Beth and I went a couple of times after radiation. This is what I had planned to do on my last day: walk in the park because of the connection I have there, then go to the coffee shop because of the good memories and conversations Beth and I shared there. When I opened my card this morning, Beth had included a gift card to Ike and Jane’s. Isn’t that great???  I could not believe it, but I guess heart friends know each other well.

I have my sixth-month follow-up mammogram on Monday. I am scared, but I cannot image that any cancer cell could have survived this barrage of toxic chemicals and x-ray beams. I will be glad to get this first follow-up out of the way; then I will have mammograms every six months for the next two years. I have always felt a little nervous before my annual mammogram so I guess I should expect to have anxiety for these follow-up mammograms. I think I will always have this little fear in my head that it might come back. I don’t think that fear will go away, but I can and will live with it.

The first nine-and-a-half months of this year have really forced me to take a good long look at myself and my life. I am still trying to get my feet under me and to walk into each day with this new outlook on life. Even though I feel scared, sad, tired, and alone, I know those feelings will begin to fade over the next few weeks. I will be able to look forward to the new adventures that lie ahead.

I want to thank each one of you for reading this blog. Thanks for all the wonderful comments and support you have given me. You held me up when I was weak. You gave me courage when I was afraid. You showed me love when I felt unlovable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Okay, I think it is about time for a little humor, so I have three stories I want to tell you. I hope you will find a little humor in all of them. I have spent time laughing at them with a few people, and each time I tell these stories I am told, “You have to put that in the blog.” So here goes . . .

The first is an update on the sweet little cutie pie I found on my walk in the park. After three baths, I think we finally have the flea problem under control. He grows sweeter with each passing day. I told you that when I found him he was wearing a collar with a tag that had the name Lucy on it. But when I talked to the owner she said his name was Sammy. Well, I had already named him Freddie, for Freddie the Freeloader. Some of you younger folks might not be familiar with Freddie the Freeloader, but he was a character that Red Skelton played. If you just want to laugh at some good clean humor, google Freddie the Freeloader. I am sure it will bring a smile to your face.

The second story begins with my trip to WalMart yesterday. I needed some things from WalMart and since it has been a long time since I’ve been in there, I was like a tourist in New York: eyes wide open, looking at all the things I have missed. So of course the idea of just running in and grabbing bleach and baking soda was out the window. I wandered around the store, putting things in my basket that I really didn’t need. I found my way to the art section; they have some art canvases and since I have started painting, I put some in the basket.

While I was on this aisle, a mother and a little boy came around the corner and were facing me. The little boy looked at me and started to say something. His mother turned to him and said, “You better not.” I looked at him; he was probably 5 or 6. He had the best smile and a sparkle in his eye, and I could just see the mischief oozing out of him. He had short black hair, shaved closer than a crew cut. He looked at his mom – her back was turned. Then he looked at me and said, “Your momma – Your daddy – Your bald-headed baby.”

He just laughed and so did I. His mother was mortified. “I am sorry – they have been saying that at school.” I looked at him and said, “I think I probably have more hair than you do.” He started laughing and we just smiled at each other. As they were walking off, again I said, “I really think I have more hair than you do.” To which his mother again apologized. I said, “No problem.” I have been laughing ever since at that little fellow. I called Kim on the way home from WalMart and told her the story, and we laughed until I had tears running down my cheeks.

Kids are great. They don’t have any restrictions; they are just honest and sometimes they tell it like it is. One day I noticed a little girl looking at me as I was walking out of Menchie’s, so I said hello to her. She looked at me and said, “Are you a girl?”  I said, “Yes, and my hair was longer than yours at one time.”  These things do not bother me; in fact they make me smile. And I think it is healthy to have one of those belly laughs every now and then.

Okay, so here is the third story. If you have been reading my blog, you know that I have three goats, who I bottle-fed since they were days old. They are more like dogs than goats. They follow me around the yard and I love them.

When I decided to get goats, I wanted male goats but not billy goats. So the woman I purchased them from used the Burdizzo method to neuter my boys. Not to get too involved, but this method uses a clamp to break the blood vessels that run to the testicles. However, unfortunately for me and the boys, it did not work. So at a year and a half, I have these goats and now they are starting to display the behavior of intact male goats. I don’t know if you have ever been around billy goats, but they smell horrible. That is why I wanted these guys neutered early.

So for the last few weeks, I wake up and go to sleep listening to two of the guys butting heads. Which isn’t so bad – but there are other behaviors that are not very charming. If you are not familiar with livestock, sometimes they do things that are pretty unattractive. Well, billy goats like to pee on their face and their beards. I guess female goats find this to be a turn-on, but I find it to be totally gross. There are other behaviors I could describe, but I don’t think they’re appropriate for the blog. In any case, I think Javier and Honey Badger are competing for Tupelo’s affection. Tupelo is not impressed and neither am I.

So it is time for a vet visit, which means loading up all three goats to take them to the vet. I had an appointment scheduled for this morning. I called and asked several friends if they could help me get them to the vet, but Kim was rescuing kittens, Lorene was keeping her grandkids, and Sylvia had to work. So it was up to me. Who needs any stinking help anyway?

I put an extra-large dog crate in the back of my Ford Focus station wagon. I decided to take the Focus instead of the Ford Ranger because I figured lifting them into the car would be easier. Well, the crate was not going to happen. I could not get them in the crate in the back of the car – so out came the crate. I pulled out the carpet from the back of the car, grabbed a little sweet feed, and put it in the car. All three goats gladly jumped into the back and I closed the hatch. Success! Except I forgot something in the house and had to run back inside. When I got back to the car, Javier was in the front seat. You have to understand, I don’t have dwarf goats; they are full sized. I had to push him back between the front two seats and into the back. Now success.

Can you imagine what you would think if you saw a bald-headed woman with three goats in the back of her car driving down the road?? Javier was his usual self, head stuck between the two seats, aggravating me as I tried to drive. The other two decided to lie down, but not Javier.

We finally made it to the vet’s office and I said to the staff there, “Okay, go ahead and laugh at the redneck woman who hauls goats in the back of her car.”  One of them responded, “We laugh at you anyway.” We got the boys out and started leading them into the clinic. At this point, Honey Badger decided he would do anything necessary to hold onto the last shred of his manhood. He would not walk. He planted his front feet firmly and simply would not take a step. I had to push him all the way down the hall into the kennel.

The goats spent most of the day at the vet; at the end of the day I picked them up and brought them home. On the ride back to the house, Javier stood up the whole trip again – but this time with his butt toward me. I guess that was his way of telling me what he thought of today’s adventure.

I hope you were able to find some humor in these stories. I have laughed and cried while writing this post. It is strange how closely laughter and tears are bound. If you are like me, I’m sure that you have been laughing at something and then, suddenly, the tears start flowing. That is exactly how my days have been for the last few weeks; my laughter has been tinged with the bitterness of reality. I love to laugh and I have been told that I have a great laugh. But it seems like such a long time since the laughter has totally filled my heart and soul.

Tomorrow is my last day of treatment. I thought I would be excited and happy about it, but I really don’t know how I feel. Scared?? Yes. Excited?? Yes. Looking forward to it? Yes and no. I have my follow-up mammogram next Monday, so there’s a big lump in my heart and throat. I am just trying to walk this path – with love in my heart, a twinkle in my eyes, and a smile on my face – because I have all of you.

So many things have happened over the last few days and I want to share them all with you. I cannot figure out how to put them all in one blog post, at least not one that would make any sense. So I think I will break them up so you will be able to follow along with my adventure.

I started off my day with radiation. Last Thursday my beautiful friend Beth gave me four cards, one for each of the days I had left of radiation. It was a very touching gesture and it brought tears to my eyes. You see, Beth’s friends had done the same thing for her. She had 36 cards, numbered 1-36 so each day she would read the card right before treatment. She told me how much the cards meant to her. So for her to do this for me was meaningful for her and for me, since she would not be there for my last four treatments.

So far I have read the first two, and I am amazed at how much this person understands about me. Today’s card was so wonderful that I want to share a little bit of it with you. Beth, I hope you do not mind. In the card, she included Mary Oliver’s Why I Wake Early, a beautiful poem that expresses all the thoughts and feelings I have about nature. In the card, she wrote, “You are brave, and wounded, and strong, and broken . . . forever changed, but okay. And if I had to guess, you are probably smiling with tears in your eyes!”

Funny – I can hardly type this because I am crying right now. Wow – she is so right. Brave, strong, yet wounded and broken. How can one person be all those things? It has been difficult for me to grasp this dichotomy within myself. But really, you cannot be one if you have not felt the other. How can you be brave if you have never been wounded? How can you be strong if you have never been broken?

Life is so hard sometimes, and I face it with armor engaged. But beneath that armor is a wounded child trying to make her way in this world. I think it has been this experience with cancer that has opened me up enough to see that I can be all those things, and that it is okay. It is part of being human. It is okay to really let people in and let them know the real me. Even with all the scars and broken pieces, I am worthy of love. I want to thank each one of you for sharing my journey with me and for loving me and supporting me.

Another lesson this cancer journey has brought home to me is the fact that no one gets out of this world alive. I am blessed; both of my parents are still living and I cannot image this world without them in it. I found out this weekend that a family friend had died. It is so hard for me to believe. I grew up playing with this man’s daughters; we grew up in the country and lived across the road from each other. We rode horses and bikes and played outside together all summer. Mr. JL would have reminded you of the Marlboro Man. He worked at the post office but also farmed. In the summer he would wear a blue cowboy shirt with the arms cut off, jeans, cowboy boots, and a straw cowboy hat. He always had a huge plug of tobacco in his cheek. Dark skin, dark hair, and a great smile. That is the way I want to remember him. It is so difficult watching people age. They are supposed to stay exactly as I remember them from my childhood. It is always a shock to my system to see how time changes my childhood heroes.

As I have said before, each day, each second is a moment I want to cherish. Time passes too quickly and in the blink of an eye it is over. Live every moment as if it were your last.

I have to tell you about my walk in the park on Friday. It was my first day at radiation without my friend Beth. I was feeling emotional and missing her, but I was also excited that I only have three treatments to go. I left radiation with those mixed emotions and headed for the park.

I started on the path and noticed how nice the air felt and smelled. It made me happy just to be outside, enjoying the sunshine on my face. I took out my iPhone so I could take some photos as I was walking. I love the way the sunlight looks striking the dew on the leaves and spider webs. I love the colors of the leaves as the light shines through them. I took several photos and was looking forward to continuing my walk when I heard the sprinklers come on.

I almost turned around and headed back to the car, but decided I could dodge the sprinklers and finish my walk. I was rounding a curve on the path when I looked up and saw a small white dog stumbling on the sidewalk near the park. He was right next to the road that runs beside the park. I watched for a few minutes to see if anyone was with him. He stumbled further along the sidewalk, then turned and headed toward the street.

I decided I should check on him. I ran a little to catch up with him and called out, but he just kept stumbling along. When I finally caught up to him, I reached down and picked him up. My first thought was, “Oh my God – you stink.” I almost wanted to put him down, but then I looked at him. He was blind, with dry crusted matter covering both eyes. He was covered in fleas and very dirty. His toenails were so long they were beginning to curl under. He had on a collar with the name Lucy. I checked – yes, I was right, an intact male – so “Lucy” was probably not his name. I had to clean the tag before I could even begin to see the name or numbers. I called the first number – no answer. Second number – disconnected.

What makes this story so ironic is that I had just been talking to my friend Kim on the way to radiation. We started talking about faith and God. Kim said she thinks we are all here to learn lessons. She said, “If we pass by an animal or a person in need and we don’t help, then that is a lesson we have to go through again.”

So I have all this on my mind and a seven-pound blind, deaf dog in my hands. What should I do? You got it: I call Kim. We decide he needs to go to the vet, so off I go. Now this little guy is pitiful. I take him to the vet, where he gets a bath and his nails trimmed. The vet also gives me something for his eyes. Kim arrives at the vet’s office, looks at the little guy, and gives him another bath. The fleas on him were unbelievable. I get him some flea medication and $70 later, we are out of there.

I continue to look for his owners and I finally reach one of them. He is 14 years old and they have had him all that time. They love him, but they do not have the money to really take good care of him. I ask if he can stay with me. At first the answer was no. Then the owner said they wanted to do what is best for the dog. I will keep the little guy for a week and then the owner will come and visit him here. Hopefully she will decide he can stay, but if not I will help her by taking him to the vet and to get groomed. I just have to do what is right for him.

He seems happy here. He is so ugly that he is cute. He makes my heart feel good. I pick him up and he just relaxes in my arms. I think he feels safe here; at least I hope so. I know this may seem crazy because I already have a house full of dogs. I love them all, and each one touches me in a different way. I have never been great with people but I have always had a way with animals. I am not talking about training them or teaching them tricks. I am talking about a real connection, almost an understanding. Maybe it is because it was animals that got me through my childhood. I needed them for comfort and support and they were always there. Anyway, what is one more seven-pound cutie going to do?

You may wonder what this has to do with my cancer story. I think it has to do with living in the moment, and being aware of what is happening around me. It is the battle with cancer that has made me see how important it is to live in the moment. How important it is to do what I can to help all of God’s creatures, and not to turn my back and think someone else will take care of it.

I hope I can help this little guy have a better life, for the short time he has left. At least I am going to try.

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.