Three and a half years ago, I swallowed radiation on a Wednesday. It was one of the hardest days of my life, fraught with uncertainty, and the loneliness of suddenly being separated from my little family...especially my 7 month old son. I couldn't write my feelings that day, so instead, I posted a photo essay. I still think that says it best.
A morning greeting from a lonely Mama's boy.
Even through my swollen lids he looked wonderful. I don't know how I will bear this...
Apparently I still have enough tears to cry.
Does one always wear flannel to radiology in Wisconsin? I missed the memo.
Ah, the notorious blue vinyl chairs, impervious to radiation and chemo. I remember these so well. And I've never sat in them before.
Bones spinning. Almost time.
Lead glows in fluorescent light.
One little word says so much: carcinoma.
Two categories that won't define me ever again. I've stepped out of these bounds forever.(2012 note: I did become pregnant again, the baby I lost in 2009.
And, also in 2009, I relactated for my very ill 3 year old daughter.
And nursed again for 9 months until my next radiation dose.)
Electric blue for danger. Down the hatch...
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