It’s f-ing over.
Tuesday, May 23rd, 2006Today was the LAST F-ING DAY of Burke’s radiotherapy (as in radiation, not music). And the end of his cancer treatment, altogether. I surprised him at the clinic, and got a little tour of the radiation room and the machine to which he’s been bolted down for 10 minutes/day, 5 days/week, for the past 3 1/2 weeks.
3 months of crap. It beats dying. Someday, perhaps, you’ll be able to take a couple of "cancer-be-gone" pills, and that will be that. Until then, there’s surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy (the benevolent side of nuclear energy), etc. Oh, and he was doing a lot of supplement/diet stuff, at least until everything started to taste like salty metal.
So we’re going to stay at a f-ing beach resort in Jamaica for 5 days. I just wanted us to get away together, somewhere with a beach and no worries. Jamaica was the travel agent’s idea. I didn’t have the energy to plan a trip that aligns more closely with our values. We’ll try not to be asshole tourists, promise.
