Thursday was the final day of my radiation treatment for breast cancer. Every weekday for the past four weeks I had walked through the revolving door of Mount Auburn Hospital, down the stairs, past the day-surgery registration area and into the radiation oncology department.
Like clockwork, I changed into a johnny, climbed onto a table, and held still while a huge white machine killed whatever cancer cells may have been left behind after my surgery (and a lot of good cells too). Fortunately, the good cells come back. And if I’m lucky, the bad cells won’t.
The people in the radiation oncology department were lovely. The people at the hospital’s main receptionist desk and in the day-surgery department started greeting me as a regular when I passed by. The buyer for the gift shop and I are now buddies.
On Wednesday night I baked three-dozen cookies for the radiation oncology team—the least I could do for their kindness. They gave me a graduation certificate suitable for framing. I said that I wished them well, but hoped I would never see them again. It’s not the first time they’ve heard that.