I.amN.otD.eadY.et children so listen up!

It’s here finally. I baked a couple of cakes. The first was a three-layer white cake with Swiss buttercream. If I am honest, that frosting tasted like I buttered each layer twice with sweetened butter. Lucy and I love white cake. Elle and I love chocolate cake. I never met a cake I did not like.
I took the opportunity to practice making it pretty. I’m not sure I accomplished that.
My chocolate cake is a vision to behold. I promised my famous chocolate cake with chocolate frosting to Nurse Nicole. This chocolate cake is my go-to recipe for birthdays and is always well-received. I warn people one slice of this cake has enough caffeine to keep you up all night.
Why would I be baking cake? There were days when I felt I could do something besides sleep. But, what’s the occasion, you ask? Ta Da. The finale to the radiation treatment — albeit far from the end of radiation side effects.
My husband and I delivered the cakes on Friday, April 30, before the treatment began.
I was called back, changed clothes, and entered the inner sanctum. The techs (always two of them) snapped me into the mask for the last time. Thinking back today, I realized that while the mask was a source of fear and claustrophobia in the beginning, sometime before the end of treatment, it became rather soothing. A comfort amidst the change in the way my life was going living with cancer.
The change in attitude reminded me of the old story of the frog dropped into a cold water bath. I’m not sure if this story was a science or history class example of how to change people’s minds. Once the frog was in the pot, placed on the stove, and the water heated ever so slowly. The frog eventually died without realizing it. The same thing happened with the frightful mask. It became an internal part of my treatment I no longer feared.
Oh well, that’s another story for another time.
It was time. All the techs and anyone else not caring for another patient gathered around the bell. The bell was attached to the wall in the long corridor, not visible from the waiting area but close enough to be heard. There were cameras and videos. No, not the news media, but my husband and son with iPhones.
I wore my Fighting Sue tee shirt, but I wasn’t sure how to ring that bell three times. I wanted to ring it out as loud as I could.
So I asked how to ring it. Someone gave me permission to ring it in any way I could, so I just let it have it.
“Didn’t time go by quickly,” one of the techs said. “Now that it’s over.”
“I’m sorry, but no,” I thought. I’m sure the look on my face said it all.
I saw the doctor before leaving that day. During my visit with Dr. Reynolds, the nurses warned me about the lasting effects of radiation.
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” someone said.
That was it. I was out the door unaware of what my future looked like.
I put those thoughts out of my mind and invited a few of my inner circle to celebrate the occasion on Sunday. I baked another cake for the “Ring My Bell” party.
It wore me out, talking to all the people. It was worth it. I don’t recall making my cake and eating it too. My throat was very irritated by that time in my treatment.
The cake was a hit by everyone who attended, my family and some friends. It felt good to see everyone, a return to normal, as this was the first time in a room with people since the Barnhard Easter Dinner.
And, for the record, things got worse before they got better.