⁇ Cancer light – The last ray also counts

⁇ 15:33 The bell that no one wants to hear

It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. In a few minutes my afternoon changed from light to heavy. Since then, I've been trying to write down everything that happens. Not to get pity, but to keep my head and heart together. These blogs are my way of understanding, sharing and showing how I deal with this sometimes seriously, sometimes with humor, but always really.

“Life does not call in advance to ask if it is convenient.”

⁇ Ready is also something

Today was the last irradiation. That sounds more festive than it feels, but it's undeniably a milestone. No more daily alarm clocks that go too early and no taxi that knows my street better than I do. The body is tired, the head is behind and yet there is relief. Ready doesn't mean heal, but it does mean finishing. And sometimes finishing is exactly what you need to breathe again.

“Sometimes ‘ready’ is the best news of the day.”

⁇ Every time a surprise

Each irradiation felt like a small unpacking moment, but without a bow. Will there be a new side effect today or will it stay with the known misery. The skin becomes even redder, the pain even sharper, the fatigue even heavier. That uncertainty is more tiring than the physical discomfort. You learn to live with the idea that predictability is temporarily abolished. Improvisation becomes a skill.

“Uncertainty is also a full-time job.”

⁇ The supersticker

The nurses were not satisfied with my skin and did not let me leave without intervention. Result a plaster of fifteen by fifteen centimeters, sized hardware store. It feels absurd, but the enlightenment is immediate. Apparently, sometimes care just works like a very big sticker. I call him my supersticker and honestly, he does his job better than expected.

‘Heling does not have to be subtle.’

⁇ Without mask

Since I don't have to wear the radiation mask anymore, I was finally able to do something that was practically impossible for weeks. I shaved. No big gesture, no symbolism that you come across in a self-help book, but it felt unexpectedly liberating. As if my face also understood that this chapter is closed. Small actions suddenly take on a disproportionately large significance.

“Recovery sometimes starts with a razor.”

⁇ Mask with future

My irradiation mask was allowed to go home. An object that for weeks symbolized lying still and surrender now gets a different life. My daughter wants to make a bust out of it. That idea alone makes it lighter. Something that began as necessary evil may end up as art. That feels like a small victory over the absurdity of the trajectory.

“What you're going through doesn't have to have the last word.”

⁇ For now

For now, this is where I am. The coming weeks can still be tough, they unanimously warn. More redness, more fatigue, maybe even a mental dip. Come on, I have my supersticker and a little more rest in the morning. No more taxis, sleep in a little more often and see how things are going. That's more than enough for now.

‘Heaviness may have light. And light sometimes weighs surprisingly much.”