You could already smell the finish line—it felt straight-up like a graduation day. I never imagined I’d get so emotional when my turn finally came to ring the bell after my last treatment. For weeks, I had watched and applauded every single person who finished their treatments, watching them pause at the door one last time to ring it—and yet, when my turn arrived, the surge of emotion totally caught me off guard. Everyone around was clapping for a multi-week journey filled with ups and plenty of downs that had finally come to an end. Right after the bell-ringing, we were invited to the center’s official graduation ceremony, where all alumni families are invited. Just like I always wanted: to be a "US graduate."
Determined not to feel like we’d missed out on anything, we started compiling lists of everything we had planned versus what we still hadn't gotten around to. This led to a three-hour drive that caught us all by surprise: I drove almost non-stop without falling asleep once, all the way to the launching point for a whale-watching tour. Granted, we didn't see any actual whales, but like proper tourists, we were utterly mesmerized by the dolphins escorting us for most of the boat ride. I didn't drive on the way back; Sharon reclaimed her role as our primary driver. The outing was a total success despite our lack of whale luck, and I immediately began scouting for the next must-do before heading home: an amusement park.
Naturally, I was in the minority wanting to hit Six Flags for insane roller coasters, so I managed to find a spot that was a whole lot easier to "sell" to Sharon and the kids: a Nickelodeon park inside a massive mall that packed plenty of other crazy attractions. My inner six- or seven-year-old leaped right out, and I somehow managed to pressure everyone into being ready before 9:00 AM. We arrived so early they were literally just unlocking the rides. Rotem sweetie desperately wanted to get on a ride—a big-kid ride. He was paired up with me while Sharon stayed with Moran. I hadn't moved that fast in ages as Rotem dragged me from one ride to the next (some of which weren't even open yet), until we finally reached the coveted target.
It looked completely innocent and mild, especially after we watched a friendly 14-year-old American girl stay on it for an extra round. We settled comfortably into seats attached to a pole that didn't look particularly tall. The ride started swinging back and forth, which eased my nerves. I thought to myself: Cool, an extreme swing, great way to start. But then the swinging escalated to the point where the mall's high ceiling suddenly kept flashing right before our eyes. All I could manage to tell my dear son—and myself—was: "It’ll be over in a second." And then the ride suddenly decided to complete a full 360-degree loop.
From that moment on, two things happened simultaneously: out loud, hoping to soothe us both, I kept saying, "It's almost over, no way there are many loops left," while in my head, I was counting every single revolution. If memory serves me right, there were at least six full loops. Not exactly the ideal start to a fun day at an amusement park. We only calmed down after stepping off that dreadful "washing machine ride," shooting intense daggers at that same girl who—naturally—stayed on for yet another round. The rest of the day improved from ride to ride, and toward midday, the place swelled with lines that only exist in America. Everyone was happy, and we managed to slip away before the crazy wait times hit.
We all made it to the graduation ceremony, which was beautifully organized. There was a veteran alumnus of the institute who lived in the area, four other patients who finished that same week, and their families. There were speeches by the institute's director, the veteran alumnus, and then each new graduate. My speech was significantly shorter than anticipated, consisting mainly of: "Thank you all so much, and thanks for coming." Luckily, Sharon jumped in to save the day as usual and managed to deliver something far more moving.
Turns out my timing has always been terrible, because the day after we officially said goodbye to the radiation center, my entire body completely collapsed. After a futile attempt to explain to an American doctor over the phone what "Optalgin" is, we decided to just give it a few hours. Sure enough, everything settled down, and I went back to being my usual annoying self.
The sheer number of boxes we shipped home and the packing up of the apartment didn't leave a single dry eye. Even though we shipped a ton by mail, our suitcases were still bursting at the seams. We said our goodbyes to everyone who had been in touch with us and supported us through this tough period, and in a bizarre van driven by a lovely getaway driver, we headed off to the airport early in the morning to bid farewell to a truly wonderful vacation. :)
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