Today I packed up cancer

...Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain, but I would've had to miss the dance... (Garth Brooks "The Dance")

Exactly eight months ago I paced back and forth at the Boulder Community Hospital getting up the nerve to call my brother, to call my sweetie, to call my friends. I painted on my happy face. I practiced perfect sales technique -- stand, smile, speak. I pretended to be happy. I pretended everything would be OK. I pretended until I didn't need to pretend anymore. And today -- I packed up cancer.

A pill a day keeps the side effects away, and another pill keeps the side effects from the pill that keeps the side effects away, and another pill keeps those side effects away...and a lymphedema sock, thermometer, various secret herbal remedies, and ginger. By god don't forget the ginger! I shan't think that I shall ever eat crystallized ginger again.

I'm ready. Two boobs, check, overnight bag, check, throw away all my bras for life, check. The morning of my double mastectomy. Kristin, I can't think of a more appropriate time to have the memories of our marathon in New York than wearing this shirt to one of my biggest events.

And I woke. I wasn't wearing a cast (good thing!) so my friends signed my "wall". Well, they also took a sharpie and drew happy faces on my knees and ... OK not really, but it would have been funny!

Into every one's life a little hair must fall! 12 inches!

Second chemotherapy. This is fun. I swear! But I recommend signing up for a root canal first.

And then it's over. Seemingly as fast as it began chemo was over and my debut singing "You've gotta have boobs" began.

For the encore, "Staying alive," before my second surgery to replace the sinking water balloon!

And the after hours party I prepared for that radiation glow.

Beam ON! And then it was over -- 6 weeks in the blink of an eye.

Cancer was a journey. Today I looked over at the most wonderful man I know and said -- and believed -- we're not meant to be on this earth to figure everything out, to analyze everything. We're just here to live and have fun doing it.

A gigantic thank you to those that went before me, to my friends that stood beside me, and for all those wonderful people I get to meet in the future. (And to finally writing about something else besides cancer!)

"Almost Done Connie"

I received it in the mail. Purple construction paper with a big red star: Almost Done Connie. Accompanied by photos of friends from Montana, the poster hangs on my fridge. Today I read those words and I know I am almost done.

It is not without an element of sadness. I've grown attached to my nurses, my technicians, my new friends.

I will miss Terry. Deb. Mike. Jennifer. Kathy. Alan. Carry. Gale. Nina. I will miss going to the cancer center. Strange, but true. I will miss having my blood drawn. I'll miss chemo, well not the part where I get sick, but the other part -- talking to Nina, using the IV pole like a skateboard, seeing if it is truly possible to pee every 15 minutes while receiving main-line saline. I won't get the Sarge and Lewis daily updates. I didn't have enough time to talk Mike into seeing the largest tree made solely of poinsettias. I won't see Carry's golden retriever. I won't get to see which pair of cool shoes Terry is wearing or talk to her about all the wonderful things we've talked about. I won't leave radiation waving goodbye to Jennifer, Kathy, and Alan everyday. I may never have another opportunity to sing wearing blue hair in the chemo room. (The Taxotere made me do it!)

In just a few days I'm set free. I'm well.