Sleeping in your own bed might be one of life’s most underrated luxuries. After a month away, I’m finally back in mine — and sleeping better than I ever did in Houston. Tugboat seems equally thrilled, judging by the thunderous snoring coming from the other room. He’s back in his own bed too, though after two weeks of bouncing between friends’ houses (friends I’m forever grateful to for spoiling him), I suspect his dreams are filled with belly rubs and treats from his temporary caretakers. Still, even if he’s dreaming of others, there’s something ridiculously comforting about having that fat little loaf of bread snoring nearby while I drift off to sleep.
Radiation is officially over, and so — for now — is Houston. I have two months to wait before I find out if it worked. I asked why it takes that long, and my doctors started talking about double helix bonds and cancer cells losing their ability to reproduce. But honestly, it was my last day of radiation, and the only thing I cared about was cracking bad jokes to make my doctor laugh and getting my radiated ass home to Austin.
This might actually be the hardest part: the waiting. Two months of not knowing what’s happening inside me, of trying not to get lost in “what if.” I’ll try to distract myself, but that’s easier said than done.
Work seems like an obvious choice — I’m heading back this week — though I’m not sure it’ll keep my mind busy enough. At least it’s something. I can finally exercise again too, which feels good, even if I’m still slightly paranoid about that damn bag exploding at an inopportune moment. I briefly considered learning something mentally intense, like mastering a yo-yo or Rubik’s cube, but let’s be real — I’d probably just hit myself in the face with a yo-yo or somehow manage to injure myself with a Rubik’s cube. I don’t need to add “traumatized by childhood toys” to my list of current problems.
So instead, I’ll stick to what I know works. Spending time with friends, keeping busy, and finally tackling the eight dusty books that have been sitting on my nightstand for months. At the start of the year, I told myself I’d read one a week — eight in two months — but that plan went about as well as most of my well-intentioned plans do. Still, maybe now’s a good time to give it another shot.
It’s late, and tomorrow’s my first day back in the office. But before I head to bed, I have to admit — I’m actually looking forward to it. For weeks, I’ve been telling my coworkers that I’ve had trouble walking because of radiation. Which, to be clear, is not true. I just borrowed a walker from a family member and plan to show up tomorrow using it like an 85-year-old. I’ll dramatically shuffle around all morning, really sell it. Then halfway through our staff meeting, I’ll suddenly hop up, walk normally to get a Diet Coke, come back, and sit down like nothing happened.
I have no idea how anyone will react, but I know it’s going to make me laugh — and right now, laughing feels like medicine.
So maybe that’s my plan for the next two months: find things that make me laugh, no matter how small or stupid they are. Because honestly, anything that keeps my mind busy, keeps me moving, and keeps me from overthinking is a win in my book. And tonight, lying in my own bed with Tugboat snoring away in his, it feels like I’m already off to a pretty good start.