Another bell has been rung, folks!
After three weeks of daily appointments, 15 precision laser zaps to the chest, and approximately 947 gallons of lotion applied to my “shitty titty,” I can officially say: I am DONE with radiation!
Let me set the scene.
I arrived at my final appointment, badge of honor in hand (aka, moisturizer in my bag), and walked up to the front desk like the seasoned radiation pro I am. The woman at the desk looked up, smiled, and said, “You’re a bell ringer today, aren’t you?” And let me tell you, I’ve never been prouder to be called anything in my life. Bell. Ringer. It’s even in my medical chart. I don’t know who inputs that note, but give them a raise and a confetti cannon.
Radiation itself wasn’t too rough — aside from the fact that it gobbled up my time like a toddler with Goldfish crackers. The treatment took less time than it did to drive there, which felt deeply unfair. Every day, Monday through Friday, for three whole weeks. I basically had a punch card — 10 zaps and the 11th one’s free.
I’ve perfected the radiation pose. Honestly, I should’ve gotten a scorecard. I lay on that board like an Olympic gymnast hitting her final landing. Nailed it. Every. Single. Time. Almost.
Post-treatment, I met with my radiation doc who reminded me to keep moisturizing like my life (or at least my nipple) depends on it. Her words (Not really)? “Make sure you keep the shitty titty moisturized.” I’ve never agreed with a medical directive more.
Then came the moment. I walked toward the bell. That glorious, bronzed, overachiever of a bell. I stared at it, took a breath, grabbed the rope, and shook it with all the strength I had left after 1 5 days of being microwaved. Three solid rings. Clap, clap, clap. The room erupted in cheers (okay, light clapping, but I felt the eruption). I gave a royal princess wave and strutted out like Beyoncé leaving the stage.
Now What?
Well, just because radiation is over doesn’t mean I’m completely in the clear. The phrase, “It’ll get worse before it gets better,” keeps flashing in my mind like an annoying pop-up ad. Side effects can actually intensify after radiation ends. Oh joy! We’re talking skin darkening, flaking, peeling, thickening — basically, I’m becoming a human croissant.
But let’s talk about what I can control: my health game.
I’m laser-focused (pun totally intended) on eating well, sleeping better, moving more, and lowering stress.
Eat Well
Meal planning is in full effect. I’m prioritizing protein, trying to avoid my sugar demons, and resisting the urge to eat every time I feel sleepy. I mean, who needs sleep when there’s snacks, right? Wrong. I’m working on it.
Sleep…ish
I’ve made it my mission to get 7 hours of sleep. The problem? That means I have to go to bed around 7:30 PM to wake up on time. And no offense, but that’s basically still afternoon. My Galaxy ring was highly offended. It literally judged me and said my sleep timing “needs attention.” Ma’am. I’m TRYING.
Move More
I’m increasing my steps by 1,000 each week. Considering that during chemo I could barely shuffle from the couch to the fridge, this is progress. Baby steps count, and so do walking-from-the-bed-to-the-bathroom steps, OKAY?
Walking outside for Vitamin D? Check.
Treadmill program? Not this week, mind your business.
General movement around the house? We’re in there.
Stress reduction through motion? Who knew! My watch and my mood agree on this one.
Hair Update!
Yes, folks — I have hair! It started growing about a month ago, and now it’s soft like baby fluff and long enough to brush. It’s not quite ready for a twist-out tutorial on YouTube, but I slick it down with some moisturizer and call it a style. We’re celebrating progress, not perfection.
Next week brings labs, a visit with the oncologist, and another infusion of Keytruda. I’m bracing myself for whatever the next phase of this healing journey looks like.
And that chapter, my friends, is closed.
Until next time… moisturize and mind your bedtime.
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