Sounding like a broken record

In my last post, I said I'd hit the wall with radiation. No, now I have. I'm so miserable, not that anyone really gets it or cares. Maybe I am having a pity party, but I guess this blog is growing old on folks, because only a couple of people commented last time.
But, as my shrink pointed out to me today, while I cried buckets of tears, which I've been doing now on and off for four days, radiation is still cancer treatment. Sure, I'm not losing my hair or toenails, or puking, but my tissue is getting bomb blasted, and it's sore, red and awful. And the fatigue has become worse. Pile on top of that the worse cold I've had in I don't know how long, and it's hard to be happy and normal.
I've had 23 treatments. Next Tuesday I will know if that's the end, or I might have two more. At any rate, this will end next week. Then I just have the herceptin every three weeks, which is nothing in the relative scheme of things.
It will be one year, this Thursday, since I heard the words, "you have cancer." It's been a whirlwind. Did this really happen to me?
I came home today after the docs. I needed to rest. I've got to stop feeling guilty about missing work she says. Actually I do a pretty damn good job. I spent four hours Sunday at a retreat of the Mercer Island School District's board of directors that was supposed to be last Thursday, but was canceled because of all this crazy weather over here. Wrote a hell of a story and my competition wasn't there. I don't totally suck.
The uke lessons are progressing. I get frustrated because I can't move my fingers fast enough between chords, but again, I need to quit beating myself up my shrink says. After all, I've only had three lessons. But it's the story of my life. I'm never good enough. I always "placed" outside the money, if you will. Sixth place doesn't win the trophy. It's a long story. I just want to be better at everything.
And then there was the memorial Saturday for C, the sweet woman who died, who was in my support group. The sun came out and was shining brightly through the beautiful windows of her church, the Unitarian Church here in West Seattle. It was her. I was overcome with grief seeing her husband and little kids. There were so many people there, who obviously loved her so much. I only knew her a short time, but I can't get over it. This shit does kill people. She was so smart - really the only one I related to in group. Her husband wrote a song about her, before she got sick, and they played a recording of him singing and playing guitar to it. He's very good, and it just broke my heart. Then, at the end, a slide show of her life was set to the song "Say Hello to Heaven," by Temple of the Dog, and I couldn't help but smile. Such a beautiful rock song, so cool. I told my son to add that to my song list for my memorial some day.
I hope it's not anytime soon, but we're all so vulnerable, and really so alone.