So I picked up my little lima bean at 9am. Our scheduled radiation time is 10am, Monday-Friday and the hospital is about 25 minutes away – if I have a clear path down the Tollway. ;)
As a loaded her into the car, I started to think about all the similarities that the first day of radiation and the first day of school have. Mom was all dressed up with a nice little sweater, her beanie cap and make-up. Much like school, you want to make a good impression on the first day!
So we are driving along and she gets a little misty. I am sure it was nerves, not knowing what to expect and the anticipation of meeting the technician, again …very similar to the first day of school (I think I cried every first day of the new school year until I was at least 7!) Now, every now and again, I have to remind my mom about how far she has come. I don’t think she fully appreciates the magnitude of the situation. She was diagnosed with Stage IVa endometrial sarcoma, people. Basically, since the cancer had spread to the bowel, it was considered an “advanced cancer.” Only 3% of this stage of cancer is caught early enough to really be impacted by treatment. The only other stop on this crazy train was a Stage IVb, which means that the cancer has spread to other organs throughout the body. So sometimes I have to break out the tough love speech and remind her of that fact, combined with major surgery and chemo and the fact that you did all that in your 80th year – heck yeah you are a walking miracle …and as my people would say (as unlady like as it is) hey …cancer …. vaffanculo!
Once I smacked her around a bit (just kidding) and we got to the hospital, we were good to go. My mom’s technician came out, took her by the hand and off they went. While I was waiting in the “holding tank” for my mom to come back, I started to talk to some of the other folks around me – it’s amazing the kind of kinship you can build with others in a brief amount of time.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom walk through the double doors, with her little beanie cap on, giving me the thumbs up and grinning ear-to-ear …and for the first-time in a few months, I lost it in public.
The first day of radiation is much like my first days of school when I was a youngster. My mom always dressed me to the nines, drove me to school, held my hand, walked me to the door and made sure I was comfortable with the teacher before she left me. And at the end of the day, when the school bell rang and I ran outside to go home, she was always the first face I saw – waiting their with open arms and smiling from ear-to-ear …asking how everything went and admiring that macaroni necklace or scribbled self-portrait, as if it was done by Picasso himself. (As a matter of fact, she still has all that stuff.)
Oddly, the exact things my mom did for me thirty years ago are the same things I am doing for her as she works her way through each treatment.
Today, when my mom finished radiation and came down that hallway smiling ear-to-ear…I had a revelation. With tears running down my face, I got it! - This was her macaroni necklace – getting through her first radiation treatment. This was her moment to shine with confidence because she did it.
You have a lot more “macaroni necklace” moments in your future mom and I will look at each and every one of them as if they came in a blue Tiffany’s box – precious and beautiful!
Because the Longo/Conley girls never end the day on a serious note, we stopped off at Starbucks for a Dolce Cinnamon Latte and a cranberry scone …and fought off the paparazzi.
Enjoy the photos of the day and know that we love each and every one of you and thank you all for your continued prayers and support.
See you tomorrow…same bat time….same bat channel!
P.S. - Note in the last picture...I spy something white and fuzzy - We have follicle sightings a month after her last chemo! ;)
