April 7th dawned bright and early. My last day of radiation. 20 days of the imaging machine rotating around me like a satellite. 20 days of holding my breath so the air would push my heart away from my chest wall. 20 days of chatting with a new friend, Deanna who happened to have chosen the 7 AM slot as well. 20 days of “Good morning” at the nurses’ station. 20 days of fatigue and exhaustion. 20 days of hope.

I wrote notes to the front desk staff, the nursing staff and the radiology techs that were only doing their jobs, but made all the difference in the world at making me feel safe and cared for. I dropped off mini bundt cakes for them to enjoy. They will forget me because this is what they do day in and day out, but I won’t forget them.

When I got to work my co-workers welcomed me to an end of radiation party. The chicas crew (Edma, Lupe and Jess) brought me my favorite snack, duritos and beans, a highly addictive combination, flowers and conchas. Edma sat beside me when I got the phone call that my biopsy was positive for cancer a little over a year ago. She’s been with me each step of the way through the stage 4 diagnosis, chemo crap, surgery and now radiation. I’m so grateful for her.

Later that evening we took a picnic up to the capital. The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Brides and Grooms were getting their engagement photos taken. Kids frolicked on the lawn. Couples walked hand in hand and the whole world felt awash with beginnings.

We each had a bundt cake and put candles in them and lit them. What a year it has been. We survived. And we will continue to do so. We decided each year we will come to the capital to celebrate another year of survival. P.S. I didn’t mean to buy cakes that resembled breasts.

My Jeff. He really took the in sickness and in health seriously. I’ve watched him pray for me. I’ve seen him cry for me. He consistently shows up for me. His enduring love for me is something I never could have envisioned for myself a decade ago. I’m so incredibly lucky.

Cancer has been like a diamond ring within a dog turd, plopped inside a paper sack and then lit on fire. Once faith dowsed the flames of my fear and I got through all the crap, I found something valuable beyond compare. I found life. I found meaning. I found love everywhere that I looked. I embraced my mortality. I accept the eventual failing of the body, but this incandescent, eternal soul will never be destroyed. I don’t know for sure what is on the other side, but I believe it is filled with our loved ones that have gone before. I believe it is connectedness with a common immortal energy. I believe Heavenly Father and Mother are there. I believe Jesus will welcome me home when the time comes. But I don’t plan on that being anytime soon.

I want to do all the things that bring me joy. I don’t want to wait. I want to travel. I want to laugh each and every day. I want to soak up the company of my family and friends. I want to bring light and love to strangers that I interact with.

So what’s next? Next I take the tumor inhibitor Verzenio twice a day. I will get a monthly injection to squash estrogen production in my ovaries. Eventually I’ll get my ovaries removed so no monthly shot will be needed. I already take letrozole, an aromatase inhibitor to block the production of estrogen in the rest of my body.

I have reconstructive surgery planned for September. I’ll be getting belly boobs as Jeff calls them. The fat from my lower belly will be transferred to my chest. Although I’ve heard it’s a rough recovery, I’m happy that the belly that came in the aftermath of having children will finally be gone. At least from the belly area.

I’ll get scans every six months. I’ll see my oncologist once a month, then every three months, then every six months and then yearly. I aim to stay cancer free. I want to be one of the lucky few that are eventually considered cured. All I can do is live every day. Put one foot in front of the other and take it a day at a time, as my wise cancer buddy Pete suggested.

I love each and every one of you that has been following my journey. I will continue to document it, but I will also document the living that I will be doing. Life is a precious gift. My advice to you is not to squander it.