End of the Tunnel.

Well, today was the last day of my radiation therapy.  I missed a day last week and didn't realize they add it onto the end.   So, that's it.   Done.  Now, it's recover.  

Getting radiation therapy is not so bad.  But, no matter how good it's supposed to be for me, I haven't liked the idea of it.  It's the kind of it's bad for me, but good for me, but yea, it's bad for you kind of good for you.  There's strings attached.  So, while I really embraced chemotherapy, I've been more ambivalent about radiation, despite my belief in it's necessity.
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I do get to know my partners a slight bit better while I wait my turn.  For one, we're fully conscious.  That helps immensely.  Mostly, there are the same two men whose appointments bracket mine.  One is a very elderly gentleman, very thin, with a cane.  Very polite, slightly stooped, his hair is very cross cropped.  His skin, papery, but of good color. He is friendly and although seemingly frail, he emanates good will.  He acknowledges my greetings with a faint European accent and reads the magazines while we wait.  My other partner is a heavier set gentleman.  Stout, with a full face and mustache, he's talkative and has the hint of a curmudgeonly view on medical bills.   He's knowledgeable about herbs and we talk about this and that.  This is the men's side.  Mirrored to the left is the woman's area. It's divided by a low partition and a mobile of cranes.  On our side, it's just us men.  A night of cards in 20 minutes.  The cranes kibitz.

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Conversations end mid-sentence, "...well, see you later.  Good luck." Each of us has been called first, second or third, seemingly irrespective of when we arrive or our appointment times.  I haven't figured it out yet and it remains a mystery.

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The sign says "Please state your name out loud when you reach this point."  Dutifully, I informatively state, "I'm John Dowling."   They say thank you.  

It's not really Helen waiting for me.
It's really my treatment technician. ;)

A few minutes positioning, lock in, and my technicians leave. The table dials itself into my program. Things move and position themselves.

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No movie moment for me.  I'm fully present.
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Bumps, clicks and light bangs herald the humming start of my treatment.   I have two persistent sensations: I get an unpleasant metallic taste in my mouth and, on really dry days, the hair on my arms feels like it stands on end and.




Treatment takes One Long Slow Deep Breath, which also takes care of the taste.  They said some people see a blue light.   I didn't like to think about what you had to have and what you were having radiated to see the blue light, so I don't have a shred of envy.   


Change and on my way.  Forty minutes.  Easy as pie. 

But, you know, too much of a good thing, etc.  I'm happy to be done.