Tomorrow I will be three weeks into seven weeks of daily treatments. That’s three weeks minus one day because they called one morning and said, “Don’t come in – the machine is broken.” I imagined the unfortunate patient laying on that slab when it broke down, and then I wondered who would be the first brave Guinea pig to take it for a test run after it’s been “fixed?”
I printed the picture you see below (posted here on April 7th) and pinned it to the bulletin board in the radiation patient waiting lounge. When the assistant who came to fetch me saw it, she said, “Oh, she’ll enjoy seeing that.” “She’s here?” I asked. Yes, right over there she pointed as we walked to the treatment rooms lobby. My escort announced that I had just posted a picture of us two. The radiologist looked at me as if to say, “and who are you?” We went back to see the picture. In it, I weigh 30 pounds less, have no beard and almost no hair. She now has short hair and was wearing a technician’s gown. She quickly inspected the photo and concluded she hasn’t changed all that much. I agreed, “Neither have I.”
Each Monday after treatment, I consult with the doctor. He always asks if I’m experiencing any side effects. Last week, I answered no, and resisted suggesting he make sure the technicians have removed the lens cap (even though I’m sure he’s never heard that one). Yesterday I answered yes, my legs feel very tired and weak, especially my upper thighs. He said, “That’s not a side effect of radiation.” We agreed it’s probably due to the parking structure stairs I’ve been working-out on daily.