Graduation Day
June 12, 2009. For most people, today was just another Friday.
But not for us. Today held more meaning for Bryan and me than almost any other day in our lives. And while I have a flair for the dramatic, right now I'm being anything but.
Today was Bryan's final day of radiation. Day #28 of 28 treatments. We got up just like any other morning, because at first, the day didn't feel different. Sure, we were excited and anticipated the closing of this chapter (easily the biggest chapter of our lives, thus far), but I quietly wondered how we would react when it was REALLY all done. You see, there was something beautiful about this 6-week routine we established. We knew what to expect, we knew how to deal with changes in Bryan's symptoms and we could count on being surrounded by professional, but more importantly, trusted medical personnel in case something went awry or we had questions.
Today that routine ended. And honestly, it couldn't have ended more beautifully or poetically. At least in my opinion. I'll try my best to explain.
We wanted to thank our incredible radiation team – Sinead, Len, Francine, Alba, Larisa, Bob, Tim, Troy, Leyla and all three Tracy/Traceys – so we went and bought a few boxes of chocolates and a card. Bryan also bought Green Flash IPA beer for Len, since Len was there was day-in and day-out of Bryan's radiation treatment. We wrapped them and tied them with ribbon so they'd look cute, made sure not to forget the cards, and away we went. Well, little did we know that not only our radiation team, but also our group of radiation patient friends, had planned to make our last day special as well.
It's amazing that you can touch people's lives without even really trying. This is what Bryan and I thought of each of Cedars' radiation personnel, who made our visits comfortable, easy, fast, efficient and dare I say, fun. They are simply incredible people with hearts of gold and smiles that brightened our day, every day. The same can be said for our radiation friends who were there today – Carolyn, Anne, Fay and Herb – and nearing the end of their treatments as well.
So we walked into the waiting room and our friends greeted us with a cheer: "It's your last day! Congratulations!" We did our typical run-through; go to the front desk, check-in, get Bryan's buzzer and get our parking validated. Then we went and joined our "friends." There are two people with whom we've spoken every day for the past few weeks: Herb and Fay. Herb and Fay just celebrated their 52-year wedding anniversary on Monday, and unfortunately spent it in the radiation room getting Fay's pelvic tumor treated. Well, Herb and Fay are adorable and are so in love. Herb dotes on Fay, getting her water, sharing news from the newspaper, making sure her gown is on correctly (we can't have any wardrobe malfunctions in the radiation room!), etc. They know that we're getting married in two weeks, so they came up to us this morning and said, "You two are just the sweetest, most wonderful couple. So we wanted to give this to you..."sweets for two sweet people." Herb hands me a See's candy box, taped to which is a card that reads "To the Happy Couple, so happy for the two of you and hoping you'll be in love like this all the days of your lives. Sincerely, Fay & Herb."
It was the sweetest gesture and we couldn't believe it. We thanked them profusely and right then, Bryan got buzzed to head back for his final treatment. I continued to chat with our friends, rejoicing in the fact that Fay only had eight more treatments and Carolyn's session was extended to five more treatments rather than 13. While we were chatting, Anne came out after finishing her treatment session. Bryan and I hadn't chatted or gotten to know Anne more than the daily smile and "hello, how are you" when we walked into the waiting room. But as she was about to leave, Anne walked up to me and says "I don't think I even know your name (at which point we introduced ourselves) but I wanted to tell you that you and your fiance made every day here better for me, without even knowing it. Your energy and your smiles really made me feel good, and I wanted to say thank you and congratulations on your wedding."
I almost started to cry. Bryan and I didn't do anything out of the ordinary when we went to radiation. We were just ourselves and I was just chatty, as anyone who knows me knows I'm prone to be. But we just enjoyed the company of these people, almost kindred spirits who truly understood what we were all going through. So for her to say that was incredible, as we wouldn't have noticed that about ourselves at all. Honestly, the bottom line is that there was a serious comfort factor in seeing the same friendly faces everyday and getting to know them as well as we did. It's a wonderful thing because it brings together people of all ages, all races, all backgrounds, etc. Cancer doesn't discriminate, and neither did any of us. We were all there with the same purpose: to kick cancer's big fat ass. I think we all did a pretty good job of it, if I say so myself.
Soon after my conversation with Anne, she left, as did Fay and Herb. Caroyln was long gone, having gone into treatment first. So I was alone in the waiting room. After about a minute, Bryan came out of his final treatment, holding his radiation mask in hand. Talk about a serious souvenir. Bryan looked really emotional so I went up to him and gave him a kiss and big hug, as I do every day. But today I squeezed a little bit tighter and held on a little big longer. Bryan started to cry and, out of nowhere, asked me if I wanted to dance.
I don't think I mentioned this early on, but on our FIRST day in the radiation center, Bryan said, "Six weeks from now, I'm going to dance out of this place." Well, fast-forward six weeks. We were standing in the radiation room, alone, surrounded by our own memories – getting his first CT scan for his mask...our frantic search for our diamond...borrowing Francine's rosary bag...watching new faces arrive and bidding "old" friends adieu – so what did we do? We danced. We did a slow dance and we cried. It was so poignant, so quiet and that moment was ours and ours alone. It was perfect. This incredible chapter of our lives was closing and we were going to dance all the way out of that place.
But before we could, we were interrupted by a man, his partner and his brother, none of whom we had met before. The man had a medical beanie on, clearly concealing a brain tumor. His name was Amit, he was about 35-years old and he and his partner, Miguel, looked terrified. His brother, whose name I can't remember, looked exhausted as he had just flown 15 hours from Israel to be there. I know that the world works in mysterious ways, but I swear to God that this was like the "changing of the brain tumor guard." It was like looking into a mirror, as they were so, so, so reminiscent of Bryan and me on our first day, terrified and clutching to one another, in full-blown protection mode. This man walked straight up to us and upon seeing Bryan's radiation mask, nervously said, "I don't know you and I don't know what kind of brain tumor you have, but I have one, too. This is my first day of radiation. Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers if I have any questions? If I can look the way you look after six weeks of treatment, I will be a really happy man."
Bryan happily exchanged numbers with this man while I spoke with Miguel. We told them about our experiences over the past six weeks, told them what they could expect, and wished them luck. It was just so strange, like seeing a version of ourselves six-weeks ago just starting this insane journey, but at the same time we were just ending it.
We started to walk out when we were called back a second time, this time by Sinead, our favorite Irish, USC-fan radiation tech. She came out to give us big hugs and was followed by Peter, another radiation tech. Peter presented Bryan with a "Certificate of Achievement," for completing radiation. It was a graduation diploma of sorts, and it was personally signed by every one of our radiation techs. They had each written a personal message to Bryan, congratulating him on everything from finishing treatment to getting married to being the best patient they've ever had.
We thanked them a final time, turned around and with chocolates, card, diploma and radiation mask in hand, walked hand-in-hand out of the radiation center. We were done and we didn't look back.
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