A C-word Journey: Autumn

It’s October in central Pennsylvania. The temperatures dropped; we now turn on the heat at night. During the day, it’s long sleeves and a light jacket. The trees are turning colors; slowly green becomes yellow or gold or red. It’s one of the most beautiful times of the year here. I just finished my radiation treatments. Five days a week, twenty in total. During my last chemo infusion in August, my oncologist said that people who didn’t go through chemo complain about fatigue and sensitivity during radiation; people who went through chemo don’t complain at all. This seems to be true in my case—compared to chemo, it was a walk in the park. A bit of itching where the beam entered the body, but overall, not too bad. I had amazing people caring for me in the Cancer Center. Young technicians, three at each session on a rotation. All seemed to be personally invested in my wellbeing. Offering a warm blanket over my legs during treatments, trying to take images as fast as possible, so I didn’t stay an extra minute in an uncomfortable position (on my back, with my arms up, bent at the elbow). On the last day, I received a certificate of completion that stated I had “completed the prescribed course of radiation therapy with the highest degree of courage, determination and good nature.” I had never imagined adding this kind of diploma to my CV, but I’ll take it.

Many people across the globe have been cheering for me and counting down to the end of my active treatment. I’m deeply grateful for that and for their enthusiasm. I noticed though that my anxiety is increasing, not decreasing, as I’m approaching that point. As challenging as these treatments have been, there was a certain routine to it. I drove myself every day and stayed there for about half an hour. I knew what’s next. I don’t know what’s “after.” When I had said I can’t imagine an “after,” several women who’d gone through similar experiences shared that you really can’t see it while in active treatment. I’m about to enter a new chapter. It may be a better one, I hope and pray. But I don’t know. As I discuss it with my therapist, my mind still wants that letter of guarantee for decades to come, signed by God. I know such a letter doesn’t exist. I want certainty about the future that can only unfold and be confirmed in the future.

And then October 7^th happened in Israel; the worst day in the 75 years of Israel’s existence. Pearl Harbor and 9/11 combined. So far, the official count is 1400 Israelis murdered and 200 kidnapped by Hamas terrorists. For a country of just below 9 million people, the magnitude of this catastrophe would be equivalent to a loss of 50,000 American lives in one day. My parents live in Jerusalem, my husband’s family is in the central part of the country. Most of our close friends there have children in the army right now. Those who completed their mandatory military service already have been called for reserves. I’m touched by friends, colleagues, former and current students, from the US and all over the world, who reached out to me since that awful Saturday with messages of support and solidarity. It’s not about me though. I’m, like them, just horrified reading the news. We are forced to live (or co-exist) with the unimaginable and incomprehensible. My own sense of safety and security was shattered on January 27^th receiving the cancer diagnosis. Something similar is happening right now in Israel. The scenes of carnage will not be forgotten. They trigger collective and individual memories, perpetuating ancestral pain. We all are praying for peace. May we know better and easier times…

I had a bone density test on Tuesday at the Breast Care Center. October is breast cancer awareness month. As I walked in, the first thing I saw was the white Christmas tree decorated with pink ornaments. Upon registering to my appointment, I received a pen and a pad that read: “Let your FAITH be bigger than your FEAR.” Working on it…