Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I started radiation yesterday! Monday was just a test run and yesterday I had my first dose. Honestly I don’t really like going. I would rather go to chemo. There is cheese there. Where are the snacks?! Radiation is indeed NOT the raddest part of cancer treatment. Also someone stole my radiation gown and bag yesterday so that was an awkward way to start off my first treatment. I have radiation and a Zoladex injection tomorrow so basically I will be at the cancer center for half of my day.

TO THE SHORT VERSION!

Radiation treatment is not nearly as fun as chemotherapy. You check in, go into the “locker” room, get dressed into your assigned gown (which by the way mine was missing yesterday what the fuck), and wait to be called back. The waiting room feels like what limbo might feel like if you were waiting to find out if you get to go to heaven or hell. People crack weird jokes. You twiddle your thumbs waiting for something to happen and yesterday I casually browsed a collection of hand knit beanies next to a pile of glow sticks. Rad jokes? I wonder if the oncology ward has beanies too because that is where you really lose hair. I will look into this Thursday when I have my injection.

I got called back and the radiologist nurse (I mean I am not sure what he is… is he a nurse? A tech? A guy doing the cancer lord’s work?) was kind and introduced himself. I was really anxious so I forgot what he said to me but I remember I gave him one of my best fake giggles as he led me back into the room.

The room reminds me of a daycare room: the ceiling panels are pieces of art from the Boys and Girls Club, the walls have some (most likely dusty) fake ivy vines crawling across them, and there is a massive “toy” in the middle of the room that you get to lay on! A child would be very into this room. Me, not so much. It is a higher level in hell, not quite as low as chemo, but we are still in hell. The radiation techs are cute little kind demons.

I basically lay down on this not very comfortable and narrow rectangle with crinkly paper but it is a little softer than paper. My head lays on a firm donut hole pillow. I have to extend my arms above my head and hold on to two handles, almost like I am on a weird theme park ride. They give you a bolster to put under your knees to make your back more comfy. How kind. The techs fidget with my gown and talk in a strange number language I have yet to decipher to share with you all. Yesterday they put a wet blanket-like item on my chest. They kindly soaked it in warm water before applying it so I was not super cold. This blanket blocks the radiation from going deeper into the skin and the treatment is more focused superficially. Every other day they will put the wet blanket on me so that some days I get deeper treatment. This technique is called feathering, a therapy designed for targets within close proximity to multiple organs at risk that rotates the radiation dose.

Before I knew it, the techs leave and I am left with my own thoughts. Why are the ceiling panels upside down so I cannot read what some of the art says? How old are the children who made the art? Do I want a free knit beanie? I will not do breast reconstruction if I am stage IV because I am going to die so why waste my time. Wow that got dark. Not all thoughts are fun thoughts at radiation.

The machine suddenly awakens. Kraken, is that you??? This large magnifying glass thing is above me and two metal panels slowly inch their way towards my arms, stopping like I am stuck in some sort of alien vessel. It gives me canoe vibes. Luckily I am not claustrophobic! The magnifying glass moves above me, left and then right, in half moon motions. A loud hum appears out of nowhere for the second half moon rotation. Then it stops and everything takes its sweet ass time returning to their starting stance. I lay there motionless as I have been instructed. The techs barge in, laughing and continuing some weird conversation they were having. I felt weird. I wanted to be part of their fun.

A tech helps me up and I am shuffled back into the waiting area. On Tuesdays I will see my radiologist after my treatment. Our conversation was pointless yesterday since it was my first treatment. I had zero questions. She told me that she will only be working two weeks a month so I will see her peer the days she isn’t there. The conversation ends awkwardly and she tells me to follow the yellow brick road (not really, just some paper signs) back to the waiting room to change and leave. I go back and remember that I had stolen a fresh gown since someone else had stolen my gown and bag. Who are these cancer kleptos? Why would someone take someone else’s gown and bag? This is a mystery I must solve!

I change and awkwardly ask the techs for a new ziploc bag for my snowflake gown. Everyone turns around and seems annoyed I asked. A tech shuffles me back to the changing area and shows me where the bags are. I felt embarrassed since it was in the same area as the fresh gowns. He scribbles my name, hands me the bag, and walks away. Bye, sir???

Radiation feels impersonal compared to chemotherapy and a bit anticlimactic. I feel like I am just a number since it is a daily activity. Maybe things will get better as the techs get to know me and I give them gifts. But do they even want to get to know me? Would they even appreciate my “emotional support human” pins?

So far my skin feels a little warm to the touch. I have already invested too much money in skin products to help with the upcoming side effects. Surviving cancer is so fucking expensive! I need to write a blog post about that…

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Le Boeuf.

“If only I could get through this

I just gotta get through this
I just gotta get through this
I gotta get through this
I gotta get through this
I gotta make it, gonna make, gonna make it through
Said I’m gonna get through this
I’m gonna get through this
I gotta take, gotta take my mind off you”

– Gotta Get Thru This, Le Boeuf