Radiation Treatments

I began radiation therapy several weeks ago. Before starting radiation I was tattooed and fitted for a form that I lie in for each treatment. The tattoos are very small black dots, and are used to line me up properly before I am zapped with cancer causing radiation to cure my cancer. My daughter calls them my prison tats. Very appropriate since I feel like I am a prisoner to this ordeal. I was told that I would receive a total of 30 or 32 treatments. The doctor took his sweet time deciding on the actual number. The radiology tech said the doc likes to think about it. I hoped it did not depend on his mood on a given day. Like if he has a fight with his wife he might give me some extra radiation as a sideways kind of passive aggressive behavior. He finally decided on thirty treatments; twenty-five regular doses and then five "boosts" to the spots where the tumors were.

I arrive at the cancer center each morning, five days a week, for an 8:45 appointment. I undress from the waist up and put on a lovely hospital gown. Who designs those things, anyway? The ties make no sense at all, and these gowns are big enough for two or three of me. Evidently the powers-that-be want to be sure that I am not tempted to steal the things to wear as a fashion statement when I am out and about shopping or having a cup of tea with a friend. I am quickly called into the radiation room where I lay on a table with my head and arms in the mold that was made for me. My arms are above my head and the lovely gown is pulled down to expose my chest. Two or three techs position me correctly as we comment on the weather and the state of the world. The table and the radiation machine, technically called a linear accelerator, move up, down and around. There are lots of clicks and humming, and random lights going on and off. The whole process takes about fifteen minutes. I lay there studying the ceiling, which is decorated with a mural of some sort of flowering tree. Do they think that I will forget what I am going through and come to believe that I am actually laying under this tree gazing up at the sky? Someone has put some cutesy stickers on the machine in another attempt to distract me from the reality of the situation. I especially like the pink one that says "Fight Like a Girl." Anyway, I lay there trying to meditate and imagine the beams of cancer causing radiation attacking any residual cancer cells in my chest and lymph nodes. Every six days the gals do some x-rays along with the treatments. The x-rays help them make sure that everything is lining up properly. Before I know it we are finished and I return to the dressing room where I apply a steroid cream to my entire chest, throw the gown into a hamper and put my own clothes back on. I also have a large tube of aloe gel that I apply every night before bed. The cream and gel are to ease the burning of my skin that is caused by the treatment. This seemed to be working pretty well until last week. Now I have severe radiation burns, especially in the lymph node areas.

Radiation makes me tired. They tell me that the fatigue is a result of my body trying to heal the burns. It is nothing like the fatigue from chemotherapy, but I do take a nap every day, and I can't do a whole lot without sitting down to rest. I have six more treatments to go. I am so ready for this process to be over. I want my life back.

Oh, wait. This is my life.