Is there anyone out there who has watched the TV show Lost? Well, if you ever saw the show, you would understand when I say that some days in the Radiation Factory I feel like I'm part of the Dharma Initiative.
It is like a factory, though. Every morning, around 6:40 a.m., Stein and I go to the radiation clinic. (Yes, Stein has continued his relentless care-giving with this endeavor. Either that, or he's got something for clinic waiting rooms...) We enter through the automatic doors, Stein turns left to go into the waiting room, and I turn right and hit the button on the wall. Two automatic doors swing open, and I get on the computer inside the doors and punch in the last 4 digits of my social security number. The next screen pops up and tells me what machine I will be on. From that I can determine which of the 2 waiting rooms I will have to go to. From the computer, I go to the locker room, change into a gown from the waist up, and go sit down in one of the waiting rooms.
They usually call me within 5-10 minutes of waiting. I rarely get through an article in any magazine (if I even pick up one), and sometimes I'll see others waiting. A lot of the same people I see everyday. We all nod or mumble a "Good Morning". The atmosphere is a little tense, a little somber. Oftentimes for me it's sad. I try not to think about the terrible things that cancer has done to people, but it's hard when you can see the physical damage on some of the bodies I see. These visuals always serve as reminders to me that I'm going to be okay, that I'm the lucky one. They also knock me down a few notches when I think that my pity party is the worst in town.
Yesterday, a young man in his twenties wearing a surgical mask was wheeled down the hall and parked outside the waiting room. I noticed that next to him was an IV pole or a chemo machine that had about 5 bags of different medicines on it. I wondered if he was receiving his chemo infusion as he waited to go into radiation? He seemed to take it all in stride, like this was his job. A few minutes later, an older man came into the waiting room. I mumbled a "Good Morning", and he couldn't even mumble it back. He grunted, and when I looked over, I noticed something on his neck that prevented him from speaking.
Today I witnessed a touching moment. An older man who I see most days, makes his way around the halls holding the back of his gown closed. (Stein unfortunately caught a glimpse of the man when he wasn't holding his gown closed and the automatic doors swung open.) Today I saw him come up to another patient in a wheel chair (a teenager?) and said, "I'm done today, but I want you to know that I'm praying for you, and everyone at my church is praying for you." I thought it was just my typical Hallmark-card-commercial-emotional side coming out when I teared up, but when I looked around the waiting room, I caught glimpses of eyes welling up. Too much for 6:40 in the morning!
The actual radiation session doesn't take long at all, and has become a routine. They position me on the bed, put my mask on, clamp it down. and then leave the room to take x-rays. Sometimes, they'll come in the room to make adjustments, but for the most part, the machine does its work. The beam rotates around me and stops on me at about 7 different angles, with the actual radiation lasting about 20 seconds at each angle. A lot of times they'll have music playing which helps to distract me. Yesterday's music didn't help, though. It was Thriller by Michael Jackson. Although I like the song, it was the part when Vincent Price is talking and then lets out a maniacal laugh. I little too much while I was strapped down to the table.
I'm done with 9 sessions, so I have 8 more to go. I've been trying to keep the sore throats at bay with a daily regime of the Aloe Vera juice, honey, and tea. Keep your fingers crossed. In the meantime, school is winding down and I'm counting down for that, too. 6 1/2 more days. And then our trip is a week later. A lot of endings. But a whole lot of beginnings.
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