The weeks of radiation treatment passed. I made a routine of getting my morning cup of coffee in the cheerful lobby of the radiation therapy department. It was beautifully decorated for Christmas. The valet told me that she would soon be leaving her job at the hospital to clean pools with a new boyfriend.

Richard and I talked of taking a six months cruise to the Bahamas and Caribbean. What a pipe dream. I felt like my life was slowly leaving me. "If I live, my Love, I’ll go sailing off with you." He’d give me hugs and kisses and I was rejuvenated and reassured.

Gradually, I took an interest in exploring the semi-darkened radiation room. I noticed many forms, like mine, for patient positioning. There were arm forms, and hip forms and chest forms and many head forms. Then it occurred to me that many others were receiving radiation to inoperable tumors and cancers. Some of these other people were getting radiation for pain control, with little chance for survival. Shelves around the treatment room held many head forms. Transparent, white mesh masks of faces with features and no color lined one long wall. These were caricatures of people receiving radiation treatment. It was humbling. One day I met a lovely girl in the lobby. Her name was Kisha. "I am here to get radiation to the ugly scars that formed when I got my ears pierced," she said. It had never occurred to me that radiation treatments are sometimes cosmetic treatment. The girl with the keloids only kept two of her five appointments according to my friendly receptionist. My mind would harken back to my childhood, and the Indian warrior who would boost my courage. I was facing the unknown, uncharted land that everyone who under goes cancer treatment treks. Would I be like old Mrs. Alex, who seemed to quietly die in her sleep while going through lung cancer chemotherapy? The cold air on my face, and the bright sun were so invigorating on those winter mornings.

My thoughts became unpredictable as I struggled with my physical health. I became paranoid and fearful if Richard was not home from work when I expected him. Fearful ideas played around in my head for no rational reason. I was pretty sure that I was going crazy. I could not help those thoughts. I would lay awake at night and worry about ruining Richard’s life with my illness. I worried about visiting this fearful cancer on my lovely and healthy daughter. I worried about giving the heritage of cancer to my innocent granddaughters.

I would rationalize by telling myself that I was probably going to die soon anyway, so why concern myself? Finally, in a green eyed attempt to let Richard know of my inner misery, I confided these worst fears. I sobbed out my darkest thoughts as he held me. What a purging that was. I cannot explain how fears can grip a person and create a generalized anxiety. This highly anxious state breeds irrational thoughts and feelings, which in turn heightens the fears.

Looking back, I am aware that if I had chosen to attend a support group, or seek counseling, I might have avoided that particular crisis. Perhaps, I was my own worst enemy with my psychotherapist background. Did that keep me from seeking outside support? I had to be the lone Indian brave. My fear of dying and the physical weakness seemed to work together to create my insecurities. What I do know is that I have never waited until I was in such an out of control state again to confide in Richard. He is my rational and practical voice. He does not mind saying, "Your mind is playing tricks on you". He is also generous with those hugs and kisses and gives me that questioning look that snaps me back to reality. I find that staying in touch with the here and now takes work!

On the days that I felt like I was going to evaporate from lack of energy, I devised a mind game of remembering. I would think, for instance, of my childhood friend, Ginger. Ginger and I had contests as young teens. A favorite was to see who could walk barefoot in the cold snow the farthest. We also used to ice skate on the frozen White Lake of western Michigan. In the summer, we would swim with our friends at the city dock. I’d close my eyes and be transported to those carefree times.

I practiced remembering, and could be a toddler again helping my dearest Grandma Cooper to make biscuits and cooking them on her wood burning cook stove.

I could remember, and hear, my Grandpa Cooper playing his harmonica. He was always so happy to see me. All of my life I have heard his music on the wind.

I would close my eyes and see myself bathing and feeding and playing with my children when they were small.

I especially liked to remember childhood memories of giving my mother pictures and little bouquets of flowers, and how she would always be so happy and surprised.

Many memories were of my siblings; playing in the rain; exploring in the woods; following streams; riding horses; playing with puppies; finding turtles; picking blueberries and blackberries.

Pleasant times were memories that I would just let my mind examine as I associated these mental images.

Blueberry picking summers at my Aunt and Uncles’ was especially pleasant to remember. Uncle Roy would ride me up and down the rows of blueberry bushes on his big green tractor. I could feel the sun and smell the rich dark earth. The fun of holding on as the tractor bounded along was such a grand adventure! When the berries were ripe, Aunt Gladys would sell them to neighbors who came to pick, and pile boxes of blueberries in the back seat and trunk of her car to deliver to area stores and farm wives. I let my mind wander to mushroom hunting expeditions with my family and camping and fishing trips. A favorite family outing was a car auction or an animal auction. Oh, the county fairs! Holidays and playing chase with cousins were wonderful memories. Many of my loved ones have died. All of my grandparents are gone. When I close my eyes and remember them, they are with me again.

My Grandma Sima had a perfectly organized and spotlessly clean house. She used to let me wear her shoes, and ride the city bus downtown alone. My Grandpa Sima coaxed wild canaries to set on his fingers, and made me the highest, most wonderful swing in the world! During treatments and when I felt badly, I would transport myself right into those special times and places.

Richard and I spent a festive week with his family between Christmas and New Years. When I later saw Dr. Roeton for my brief weekly visit with him, he sternly asked why I had skipped five days of radiation therapy. I reminded him of his merciful reprieve and he responded, "Oh, yes, but no more time off."

Radiation treatments ended in February ‘97. I was worn out, but triumphant. I was very grateful to be alive.

Richard and I celebrated for a whole month. I began to look ahead to the real possibility of a long sailing cruise.

I religiously took my vitamins, continued a reduced work week and attended to my follow up visits with doctors Sea and Rose.

My initial instinct was to avoid anything I could that compared me to a "survivor". My medical saviors have not allowed that. The oncology nurse who administered the IV chemotherapy continued to ask me about potential side effects. She also cautioned me to maintain my check up schedule and insurance, as I excitedly told her about my possible sailing plans. Nurse Linda never failed to ask me about "how are things at home"? "Are you getting plenty of rest?" "Talk to Dr. Sea about those vitamins you are taking...You don’t need a diet, you look beautiful." Enough credit cannot be given to the oncologist’s office staff who nursed me along on my path to wellness.