7 . . .

It's Saturday and I've still got seven to go. Unfortunately the broken machine put me back two days. Typical of how every little thing has gone on this wild trip.

The other people who have done this before me didn't lie when they said this would be the easiest part. The driving is not so bad with my books on CD from the library. The wait at the Center is never long, either. The doctor is pleasant.

Shall I update my symptoms? I'm a little tired, especially this week. Some of that, I'm sure, is from going later in the afternoon because they're fitting me in on someone else's machine (the machine I was being treated on is still being fixed). But I'm sleeping good at last (and in my bed, not in The Chair). They told me it would be like a really bad sunburn. Well, it is like a sunburn and a little itchy and blistered at places. But frankly, folks, I have had a really bad sunburn and this is just an ordinary sunburn. Doc said it has gotten as bad as it should at this point. The remaining treatments shouldn't make it worse. Which is great, because I've dealt with this sort of irritation many times in my life and that's all it really is, an irritation. Some of my bras are particularly aggravating, but I have some camisoles with support built in that I can wear instead of a bra.

All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about all this winding down. I just wish the little things that keep occurring to extend the treatment time would stop. Enough, already!

Referring to the treatment being pushed back two days someone said to me, "Yes but, you must see the light at the end of the tunnel." Actually, several someones have said this to me. My response to that is, of course I do, but...

Remember learning to swim? Mom or Dad would say, "Swim to me, I'm just right here." And you'd let go of the edge and paddle with all your might. And as you got closer they would keep moving back. That's what it feels like. And no matter how much encouragement they gave, "See, you're doing it! Your swimming. Come on!" you started to tire. Like that kid I once was, I want to yell, "Stop moving and catch me!"

But I keep swimming.