Radiation: One down, 16 to go.

Left work today at 4:15 to make my 4:30 appointment. My first of 17 radiation treatments. Everyone's been telling me it will make me tired, my skin might burn afterward, but that it's cake compared to chemo.

They called me back at 5:15-- I'd waited for 45 minutes. Unacceptable for someone trying to juggle these appointments and a work schedule. They assured me it was an atypical day. Let's hope so.

I changed into a hospital gown, put my clothes and purse in a locker. Olga the technician led me back to a large room, beautifully decorated with a mini-rain forest of tropical plants in the corner, teak benches, hardwood flooring. Olga eased me onto the table and bolted my head down with the mask they'd cast last week.

I was in the mask for more than a half hour. I don't think any description could explain how it feels. So foreign. So uncomfortable. And while I was bolted down, two noises filled the room. One, a high-pitched screech, the other, the sound of an old-fashioned pencil sharpener cranking a circle around my body.  I was handling it all pretty well until the last five minutes. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. I began to move my feet. I started to cry. (I realized the crying was a bad idea; in the mask, there's no wiping of tears, and visibility is reduced to zero.) The minute the table slid away from the big white donut, I moved my arms and Olga rushed to take the mask off. She could see I was uncomfortable and said she has some ideas about how to make tomorrow a little easier on me. 

I walked back to the dressing room, and as I changed out of my hospital gown, I could see the impression lines the mask had made on my face, and I saw my chest was red.

It was a hard few minutes, but it wasn't chemo. And for that, I am thankful.