BOSTON -- "Try not to get too excited about news you perceive to be good and try not to get too down about news you perceive to be negative."

That was the advice family friend Dr. Gerry Doyle gave me when I was diagnosed back in December. It has proven to be excellent advice throughout these eight months of treatment. Followers of this blog may recall I was Stage II at diagnosis. Well, I have recently learned I was Stage II all along.

Shortly after my surgery, my doctor called to discuss my pathology report. The tumor was 4.5 centimeters and I had four out of 14 positive lymph nodes. Four or more lymph nodes is considered Stage III. I was disappointed because one lousy lymph node had put me into Stage III. But I did try to reassure myself it was only one lymph node, not a death sentence.

Doctors recently reviewed my pathology reports in preparation for radiation treatments. It turns out that one lymph node cut in a half was counted as two lymph nodes. I was Stage II all along.

I've taken this news in stride. I did not freak out when I thought I was Stage III. I'm not celebrating now that I'm Stage II. It's just a number! That's why this is such a mind game. You just have to ignore statistics and staging when possible and focus on getting through treatment. You have to live your life. We are all going to die someday. Why should cancer patients sit around thinking about the odds of how soon that day will come? Yuck! I have a lot better things to do.

That said, boy am I glad chemotherapy is over. Those six months tested me physically and mentally in ways I never expected. By week 10 of the last course (month five), I was fried. Four weeks later, I still feel weighed down by the after effects. Mouth sores linger as I continue to fight the battle against fatigue. I'm scared the veins in my left arm will never be the same. We only used one arm for chemo in an effort to prevent lymphedema in my mastectomy arm.

As I was wrapping up chemo, it was time to be mapped for radiation. That involved several hours of lying on a table, arms over your head, feeling like a bizarre science project. The radiation planning is so precise, you could not help but be impressed. Using computers, radiation oncologists, technicians and nurses figure out exactly where the radiation beams should go. The key is to avoid as much lung as possible and any overlapping of beams.

Radiation kills cancer by damaging DNA, causing cells to die. Unfortunately, it can also kill normal tissue. I'm told because normal tissue is healthier than cancer, the normal tissue is able to repair itself after treatment. Chemo targets microscopic cells that may be in the body. Radiation specifically targets cells at and around the tumor site. Skin irritation and fatigue are the major side effects.

I did leave Brigham and Women's Hospital with something I never thought I would have -- tattoos! These permanent marks serve as a guide for the radiation oncologist. They are small, only about one millimeter, but noticeable. I'm told they are necessary so the radiation therapist can precisely pinpoint the area needing treatment. It also allows the technician to line up the treatment fields quicker making each treatment session run more smoothly.

And believe me, all of us on L2 at Dana Farber want the treatment to run smoothly. I'm scheduled for 28 sessions (about six weeks) of radiation, every day Monday through Friday. It takes about 10 to 15 minutes each time and does not hurt. I just try to close my eyes and relax. It goes by pretty quickly. I did OK the first day, but had a little breakdown on Day 2. I just felt overwhelmed at this newest phase of treatment. I wasn't sure how I would get into Boston every day with the kids, the job, the hubby and his job. But you do it because you have to. My husband has been great at adjusting his schedule so I can get the treatment I need. But I know each day he is itching to get to work and back to normal.

It is a bit of a grind at this stage and I'm barely keeping it together some days. When I feel down or overwhelmed, I remind myself I am in a fight for my life. I don't mean to be dramatic. But focusing on the big picture helps me to get past my impatience at the daily rigors of treatment and its effects.

Speaking of effects, without my wig and makeup I don't recognize the person in the mirror anymore. To make matters worse, I've had several incidents recently where people I know don't recognize me. It only makes me feel even more like a freak show. Someone said, "Oh, I didn't know it was you." I replied, "Of course not. I'm wearing a wig, I have no eyebrows and no eyelashes." Why would anyone recognize me when I can barely recognize myself?

At the Wellness Community in Newton, a great center for cancer patients, they gave me a book called "Facing the Mirror with Cancer." It specifically shows you how to use makeup to create eyebrows and how exactly to get those false eyelashes to look natural. Many of the hospitals also have "Look Good, Feel Better" sessions where professionals help you cope with your new hairless self.

For now, I'm going to get a calendar and start making huge Xs after each day of radiation. I need to visualize the finish line because I really need this to be over. I am so grateful for the support and encouragement from my family, friends, survivors and so many viewers. It really does make a huge difference.