Finished 30 radiation treatments today and cried in the parking lot
Today was number 30. The staff gave me a certificate, my husband took a picture, and I smiled like I meant it. Then I got into the car and sobbed so hard I had to wait before putting on my seat belt.
I am grateful. I am exhausted. My chest feels tender, my throat has been cranky, and my emotions are all over the place. I thought I would feel triumphant. Instead I feel wrung out and strangely quiet.
Still, I finished it. Every weekday, every drive, every waiting room chair. I wanted to put that somewhere people would understand that a victory can be real and still feel heavy.
Replies
Congratulations on finishing. I cried after my last radiation too, and not in the graceful way I imagined. It was like my body finally believed it could stop holding itself upright for appointments. Heavy victory is still victory.
Thirty drives is a lot. Thirty check-ins is a lot. Thirty times arranging life around the machine is a lot. I hope your care team gives you clear instructions for the next few weeks and that rest actually feels possible soon.
My husband was quiet after his last session. Everyone else wanted cake and pictures, and he wanted the recliner and no questions. We learned to celebrate in the size he could handle. Today can be a whisper and still matter.
I am on treatment 18 and needed to see someone at 30. Thank you for leaving a marker on the path.
Please tell your nurse about the throat and tenderness if you have not already. Mine had very practical suggestions for what was normal for me and what needed a call. And also: you did it.
The certificate photo smile is such a thing. I have pictures where I look cheerful and remember being completely empty. Both were true.
Standing ovation from my little corner of the internet. Rest gently tonight.