Divine Inspiration

Divine Inspiration

From Chicken Soup for the Breast Cancer Survivor's Soul

Divine Inspiration

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

Edith Wharton

I really wanted my last treatment to be special for my radiation team, because they were awesome, and for myself to celebrate thirty-three days . . . thirty-three treatments.

So I decided to bake biscotti. I stayed up until 1:30 A.M., then got up early to package it, wrap it and write out cards. But something was missing. I wanted to be able to convey to the amazing people at the hospital how much I appreciated them, their professionalism and their caring dedication, and how comforting it was to have them there during my treatments.

I also wanted my gift to be something memorable, something that would brighten their day and bring smiles to their faces every time they thought of me—and make me smile every time I thought of them. (The irreverent part of me just had to have the last word!)

All of a sudden, it came to me. It was inspired—it was brilliant—it was too stinking funny! I needed some help, though, and my husband John had already left for work, so I called a friend and asked if she would come over.

When I arrived at the hospital, I changed and went into the treatment room. For thirty-three days, the technicians had carefully positioned me and lined me up with precision according to the tattoos and marks painted on my chest to make sure they treated the correct areas.

The technician came over to position me, adjusted my drape, looked at me, looked again, and burst out laughing. Another tech came in, looked, looked again, and did the same.

I couldn’t help it. It was too perfect. For some reason, Bob Hope popped into my head that morning, and I knew it was divine inspiration. There on my chest, I had my friend write:

“Thanks for the mammaries. . . .”

Mary Anne Breen

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