Completing the Journey

Friday was my last day of treatment. Again. Apparently the scheduler & I didn't have the same info as the oncologist, so I've had a couple more treatments since the last entry.

But this time, it was Oncologist Approved. The Real Last Time. The always-radiant woman in Swedish's entry hall gives me a hug when I tell her. The treatment center receptionists cheer. James pauses on his way to work to say Congratulations and give me an extra kiss.

There is so much support for the process of cancer treatment. It has become a pilgrimage of our era -- a physically and spiritually taxing journey that the culture recognizes, respects, reports. In bygone days, we'd tell the tale of the trip to Jerusalem, the hardships of travel, the dangerous gangs ,the welcoming saints. Now, we listen with respect to the hardy souls who have sojourned through chemo and wonder at the epic sweep -- the side effects, the heroic caretakers, the (hopefully) wise healers. There are the people we meet along the way, finding a fellowship across disparate pilgrims. The auto mechanic Jeff, who tattooed his defiance to cancer on his arm. Sylvia, the gardener, whose bent body has already survived so much. Karin, far too young to have given up so much of her tissue. Rowan, who bravely left everything to return home.

In travelling to Jerusalem and through chemo we set out asking "Will this make a difference?" Some fervently believe it will. Others simply hope.

I watch the final drips of Herceptin flow into the IV, moving toward my blood vessels. I promise my body, I Will Not Do This To You Ever Again.

I choose life.
I choose health.
I choose balance.
I choose thankfulness.