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I will not complain anymore about radiation. I am so fortunate. This morning "the ladies" [in the female-only waiting room] were discussing our skin, and one showed me 3rd degree burns. Over the weekend her blisters opened up. She was absolutely raw in several areas, some as much as 3-5 inches across. My heart burst. Then I got angry. It's unbelievable what people go through. Radiation is not benign. Another woman who finished last week was in to see her doctor as she also has 3rd degree burns although they are smaller in size. Wow.

I saw radiation breast oncologist doc Jenn today rather than tomorrow as she is going to a conference. [Wednesday is my usual day with her.] I enjoy her. Each time we meet she shakes my hand hello and goodbye, so I started to tease her about it. The formality of a handshake. She's a good sport. She said that in her line of work, patients are all over the map in terms of how much privacy they want. She said she had one patient who stipped down entirely for an exam with no johnny in site. Others keep their bra on for a breast exam. This time we hugged goodbye. I feel lucky to be at the Dana Farber for this treatment. I have what in social work school we called "a positive institutional transference". They take really good care of all of us. Next time they do a fund-raiser I want to contribute in some way.

Lucy sent this Rumi poem this morning. We talked a lot about spirituality this weekend. It's so beautiful.

Whoever Brought Me Here

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

*Rumi*
Trans. Coleman Barks.