Jeff and I at the Porcupine Pub & Grille last weekend

Last Monday I went up to the Huntsman for a “planning session” for my upcoming radiation therapy.

They had me change into a gown and then they took me back to one of the MRI machines. From start to finish I was on the MRI table for 2 hours. One of the radiation techs was named Darren, so I took that as a good omen, as my brother’s name is Darren. They looked at my most recent scans and started planning where they should aim the radiation when I come in next for my actual treatment. Because they want it in the same spot every time they made a mold beneath my upper body. All I could think about is when Han Solo came out of the carbonite, although I did’t have my arms up in the don’t shoot position. After scanning me through the MRI machine a half a dozen times they aligned me with some lasers that shone down on my skin as a guide as to where to position me within the MRI machine. Then they marked where the lasers were. When the doctor approved of the positioning they gave me my first tattoos. I have three dots on my right upper arm that coincide with the lasers, and one on my right side. I have three on my left upper body one on my chest above my breast mound, one below on my ribs, and one on my side

Starting March 10th I will go in for my treatments once a day Monday – Friday. The first week’s treatments will be on my shoulder metastasis. The last three weeks will be on my chest wall and axilla. I’ve heard that the main side effect is fatigue. As the nurse so helpfully described it, “It will feel like you’ve spent a day in the sun. You know the way it can feel like it zaps your energy.” Great. There’s been many times along this journey that I wished that I were independently wealthy, or at the very least possess an unending amount of PTO so I could focus on resting instead of working, but it just isn’t the case. So I scheduled my treatments at 7 AM so I could get to work at a decent hour and work a full day.

I came out of the facility and saw blue sky everywhere I looked. The sun was shining, and I couldn’t help but think about this being the start of the end of active treatment. I remember reading. my oncologist’s note at the very beginning that by doing chemo, surgery and radiation that I was opting for my quality of life decreasing in the short term. It’s true. I have been reshaped, both body and soul. Sometimes I am unbearably sad. Sometimes I am hopeful and happy. But mostly I passively observe myself as I put one toe in front of the other as if walking a tightrope. Trying to get to the other side without falling, without freezing in fear, without being knocked off balance by the winds that buffet me has taken nearly everything I’ve got.

In the most difficult moments I hide away in a peaceful place in my mind. Surrounded by tall pines, with the ocean endlessly crashing on the beach below I am strong and happy and untouched by sorrow. I am unafraid that predators are lurking in the shadows. It is enough that I can sit in a meadow of wildflowers and tall grass and feel the sun warm on my skin. Here I lack for nothing. Here there is nothing urgent that needs my attention. Here I am loved and whole. Here cancer does not exist. It is just me. Healthy, young and full of hope for a future that stretches on and on disappearing into the horizon.