OLD AMY, MEET NEW AMY...

It's all starting to blur together now.  I don't remember one radiation treatment from the other.  I'm stuck in the movie Groundhog Day!

• Park in the same spot and walk in quickly (because I'm usually running late)
• Smile at the clerk who waves me on to the dressing room
• Put on a smock and hide my keys under my clothes - don't even bother to hang them on the hook
• Follow the tech to the machine
• Line my butt up with the top of the pad
• Take my arm out of my smock and put it above my head
• Focus on the ceiling pictures while she draws lines on my chest and boob
• Count to 30 while the machine buzzes, then moves to the other side and count to 30 again
• Wait for her to come back in, get up and follow her back to the dressing room
• Put on my shirt and pitch my smock in the laundry
• Turn off the lights and leave the room (I'm the last patient of the day)

The whole process takes just 10 minutes and I've done it 25 times so far.  Just 8 more and this will be done.  Two weeks from now I'll be done.  hummmm

I'll be done with my treatments in less than two weeks but I'll never be done being a breast cancer survivor.  I can never go back to December 7, 2011, the day before my follow-up mammogram.  This experience is now a part of me.  It's not the first time I've met a new me and I'm sure it won't be the last.  Some of my life-changing experiences have made me bitter and I'm not to proud of that.  This one however has made me stronger and more focused on what is important.  I think I like this new me.

Earlier this week, as I was pulling into the parking lot of the doctor's office and heading for my normal parking space I was held up by a family standing in my way.  It was an older man, younger man, and younger woman.  The two men were hugging with their faces buried in each others necks.  The woman was standing by the younger mans side looking somber.  My heart broke for them.  Where they learning about a new diagnosis and at the beginning of their journey?  The older man pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face as I walked by.  I wonder if they looked at me as a strong survivor, a reminder of what chemo does (with my buzzed head), or if they even saw me at all as they were spinning in their pain.  I've been thinking about them a lot.  I wanted to teleport them to where I am now and spare them the rough road.  That's the new Amy talking because before this she would not be able to feel their pain.  Now I can and I pray that when this is over for them they will like their new selves better too.