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10:00a
I am working the last of my things toward the door. I still have an hour until my last radiation treatment. I feel strangely quiet. Not quiet like I am not saying anything. Besides, I am here alone. Who would I talk to? But a quiet deep inside me. Calm and ready and quiet. I am ready to go home.

Six months ago, this town was my home. It is still the home of my oldest daughter and my brother and sister-in-law. It’s still the home of my nieces and nephews and even a great-niece (they are mine even though they are biologically Dan’s). But this town is not my home anymore. I am going home to Lincoln City. No matter where my motorhome sits, that little beach bungalow town is where my heart set up housekeeping. I am ready to go home.

I am not ready to let go of the people that have been so kind to me. When I walk in there today, it will be for the last time as the person I am now. When I walk out again, it will be as someone else entirely. I have to tell you, I am a little nervous. Yes, that may sound like a contradiction of the “quiet” inside. But it’s not. Nervous and quiet, in my mind anyway, go hand and hand.

This is it. One more treatment.

My small secret fear is that one day, I will have to come back to lie on that table and repeat the last five weeks. It could happen.

I am one of the lucky few with less chance of recurrence, though. It has not spread. It’s only there in my butt cheek. When House removes it. He will get it all. It will be gone. Forever. I pray.

And so will the muscle it has invaded.

This is still the year of “Not-a-Clue.”

********
1:00p

I quit! Poke a fork in me, I’m done! Crispy Fried. My rump is roasted! La-La-La The fat lady is a’singin’ so it must be over. Pull the curtain on this chapter.

But I digress. . .

As I walked across the parking lot I remembered that first day when I stepped one foot in the door and turned around and ran back to the car. Many of the same emotions were there. But this time for different reasons. I was almost as scared to end this as I was to begin. Isn’t that strange?

The same lady that witnessed my hasty retreat that first day greeted me this last one.

“It’s Friday!”
“My last Friday!”
“Oh, good for you! Congratulations!”

I crossed her domain and entered the Radiation Oncology wing feeling like a high school senior on her last day of school. Happy and sad fighting for dominance. The hallway to the “clubhouse” was deserted. Where is everybody? Stepping into the dressing room I scooped up gowns discarded by the last occupant and deposited them in the receptacle like the mother I am cleaning up the space I share. The gown I chose for myself gave me the same struggle as everyday. It was the same as always.

But it wasn’t.

The moment I sat for the last time on the clubhouse couch, K appeared to fetch me.

“No, I’m not getting up. I’m staying right here.”
“Last day my friend. Let’s go.”

And we went.

“Where is the little one?”
“We had an emergency patient come in. H has to do his simulation in the CT room so he can get started on his radiation right away.”
“I remember that day! Oh, that is the worst part of the whole thing.”
“She will be here to say goodbye, don’t you worry.”
“I can’t believe she is going to miss my last day.”

My last day is someone else’s first. Go figure. Life is a circle and we are just coordinates on the arc.

Before I climbed onto the table, K gave me a hug. We were both having those happy/sad conflicting feelings. Can you believe she thanked me.

She thanked Me.

“What are you thanking me for?”
“You taught me stuff.”

I looked at her with my head cocked sideway. I started to ask, but decided not to. Each persons “stuff” is private. But that didn’t stop me from wondering.

Then we chatted while she fiddle and adjusted, pulled and cajoled me into place on her own. “I was saying to myself in the dressing room that I hoped it would take a little longer today. But I didn’t mean that you would have to do it all yourself!”

“You willed this!”

And we laughed some more.

“You’ll find another clown.”
“Not your kind of clown.”
“You’ll have to go back to being serious.”
“If that happens we’ll just think of you.”
“Even radiation can be fun, huh?”

And the buzzing began and I listened this time. I sang along with the sound in my mind. Last Zap Overture. Bound to be a hit.

“That’s it my lady. It’s all over.”
“Good timing ’cause I quit!”
“I see how you are!”

As I made my undignified dismount I asked if I got a mortar board hat to where home. “No, but you get this!”

And with a smile a galaxy wide, she handed me a tissue wrapped treasure I will keep forever. Inside the bobble was a silver coin with an angel engraved on top. “That’s us watching over you.”

This tiny trinket that I held in my hand will stay with me forever. A reminder of the kindness of one-time strangers, now friends.

“When is your surgery?”

She promised to call the hospital that day to make sure I made it through all right. I have no doubt that she will.

True to K’s promise, my dear H showed up to escort me to an exam room where we would meet up with BB for my exit interview. We hugged and smiled at each other as if we were at an airport gate and I was flying off for parts unknown. And I guess I am.

“Well you’ll have to go back to being solemn and professional now.”
“No, I think you might have broken us of that.”

Hmmm. Go figure. Is it arrogant for me to think that somehow the next person’s treatment will have not just a compassionate touch, but a humorous hand to it?

More hugs from BB, nurse of the year. She gave me advice and some more creams for my tender tush. One more picture for the road. The day I met her I had no idea I would get so attached. She told me that it’s common for patients to leave with separation anxiety. So many weeks, day after day. You get attached.

You know what? I think this time my Dear Starship Crew will know just how the exiting patients feel. They were all exhibiting signs of separation anxiety themselves today. How’bout that?

BB left me in the exam room to wait for the doctor to come in. (Not my Dr G, unfortunately. He is not in the office on Fridays.) She left the door open. I don’t think she knows that when the door is open, the hallway is reflected in the mirror on the wall. I didn’t tell her. I watched them all coming and going, continuing the care that they give so freely. K walked by and threw me a goofy look and skipped just couple beats. I heard the voice of my H depositing someone in the room next to me. “Can I get you something to drink? How about some tea? Earl Grey, maybe?” That’s my girl! I heard K laughed way down the hall. Probably there in her control booth at the end. I caught BB’s kid glove voice too. Comforting a little old lady.

They didn’t know I was listening. I felt the same as I did last Sunday when I listened in on my family waking. I stored this one next to that in my heart and I locked it in place with my best mother smile. I’m gonna miss them all.

Glad tears accompanied me out of the wing, across the lobby and out to my car. One small step for woman, one giant step for all kind. One battle fought. But the war isn’t won.

It’s time to go home.

I called Dan.

“Are you done?”
“I’m done.”
“Well, get you butt home!”
“I’m coming. And I’m bringing my burnt butt home too.”

********
7:30p
The long and winding road. . .

On the road again . . .

I’m on my way. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m on my way. . .

Hit the road Jack and don’t come back. No more, no more, no more, no more . . .

Take your pick of “going home” songs, I most likely sang it. By the time I pulled in to the RV park, my voice was as sore as the rest of me. I parked in front of the motorhome and froze. I was stuck there, in the car. I honked once to announce my homecoming. The door opened and Brandi came out. And sat down in a chair on the porch. She didn’t see me. I watched her for a moment, and then honked again. She jumped and yelled out and the flood gate opened. I had three little helpers all trying to pull me from the car.

“We’ll help you mom!” they all vowed as they pulled and pushed.

“Stop helping so much! Everyone step back and give me space to do this on my own. Robbie Stop pushing your sister!”

I’m home! MOM’s BACK!

I wasn’t back very long when I was hustled back out the door for cheeseburgers and cherry cokes at the 60’s Café where the kids love to pick songs on the “juice box.”

Will you still need me when I’m 64? and Earth Angel played in the background of my Graduation Dinner! While Dan, Robbie and I danced in our seats to All Shook Up, Jaymi got shorter and shorter as she sunk under the table. “Oh, please stop!” Hahah She has entered the “You’re-Embarrassing-Me” stage and it’s so fun!

Back to business as usual for a little while. Except that mom can’t get out of the booth without a cane and a push. But, I’m still mom. They’re not going to trade me in just yet.

Maybe tomorrow. But not today.