Oh, my coming weapon.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

May I introduce my next line of defense, my coming weapon?  He's quite the aggressive combatant, but is no where near the maniac chemo dared to be.  The aim of his attacks are precise and the damage of his wake will affect my body far less than chemo did.  On top of this, his track record in killing the cancer cells (that you create in particular) is pretty impressive.  Yep, his name is radiation, and after my first introduction to him, you could say he tickles my fancy (hahaha, is anyone else amused by that phrase? Dying over here).  Yes, sir, I'll share more...

Thursday morning, I bounced into the oncology center (I've come to terms with the fact that I'm by far the youngest one in the building.  To make my day and have some fun with this fact, I like to startle the senior citizens by either running or prancing through the door.  Their eyes are wide enough when they see how young I am, but you should really see their sauce-pan eyes when I leap right past them... that's what they get for staring).  Because I was late (the curse of a Woo), the nurse was ready and waiting for me.  As she led me down the hallway and into a small patient room, she bubbled over as she said, "My name's Kim and I'll be one of your nurses!  How are you doing?!"  Instead of responding with just as much enthusiasm, I quietly said, "I'm fine, thanks."  Surprised?  Well, you see, I knew today would be the day I'd learn of radiation's methods, side-effects, and risks, which the weight and expectation of that all caused me to err on the somber side.  I could tell Kim read my apprehension by her resolve to empathetically reach out and touch my arm every other sentence throughout the visit.  Even though it was a bit much, I was relieved she did so.  In fact, I couldn't have asked for a better person to assist me throughout the appointment. 

Kim not only read up on my file (which surprisingly, many do not), but she had already read through the pamphlets concerning radiation to the head, neck, and chest and crossed off any side-effects or risks that were not applicable to me.  I've met with a LOT of nurses and doctors in my day (well, these past few months), and you have no idea how radical of an approach this is - to individually and intentionally care for my unique case (because every case is in fact unique from another).  As she went on and dove into each detail written across the pages, I praise the Maker she didn't stop after each one to gauge my response.  I hid my eyes behind my eyelids as I stared down at these words, not wanting her to see my eyes well up as I read that my lung could potentially be scarred or how tightly my throat could close up after each treatment.  Thankfully, Kim just kept going, not stopping for a breath until we reached the last risk, in which I had enough time to piece myself together.  What I learned: basically everything under the sun could happen to me in my life.  Woohooo for the future! 

After these pieces of life-giving news were shared, I hear: "Another nurse will swing by to get you, so your mask can be made."  Wait, what?  Apparently, before the actual act of radiation can occur, I need a plastic mask sculpted of my entire upper body... which will then be strapped down to the table so that I am consistently in the same alignment each visit.  Okay, didn't see that one coming.  And just as Kim said, a nurse stopped by and led me to the next phase of this visit.  As she opened the door to the next operating table I would have to buck up and embrace, she looked at me with a questionable face and asked, "Are you in any way claustrophobic?  If so, this may be extremely difficult." 
I looked back at her examining face and puffed up my chest a little as I said, "No, not at all." 
Not as convinced, she went on to explain, "The plastic we use will first be melted so that we can mold it to your body.  It will be really hot, but we'll cool it down by rubbing ice packs over the surface as it hardens."  Okay, this is weird... How hot are we talking?  I mean, is this going to burn my face?! 
"It has to be perfect and I hope we can get it the first time.  The process will take about 15 minutes total." Sick, that's a long time to be stuck under that thing. 
"Please go slip into a gown."  Bah!  You would... 
"Probably a small/medium will do."  Wow, thank you for that.

I swallowed my exasperation and did as I was told.  So there I was, lying on yet another examination table, being "a good sport" through one more test, and again trying to not pee my pants (literally - after they injected fluids into my bloodstream for my CT scan, the nurse said, "This will make you feel like you are going to wet your pants... but don't worry, you aren't acutally doing that."  On one hand, how am I still surprised? On the other.... you have GOT to be kidding me, lady.)  Mr. Hodgkin's, you are the cause of some seriously bizarre tests.  At least, I now have a lot of material for the 10 fingers game.... you know, the game where you say "I've done this..." and if others haven't also, they need to put a finger down.  Objective: you want to be the last one with fingers still up.  I dislike organized fun (aka games), but when I know domination is inevitable, I will surely participate.  Now I know what game to instigate at youth group next week...

Anyways, I am now a girl who has a mask sculpted of her upper body on display at the oncology center; a girl who officially knows she isn't claustrophic; a girl who needs to take StrengthsFinder again because she must have the strength of Adaptability after all this crap; and a girl who gulps at the realization that a radiation run-through happens on Monday and then it officially starts Tuesday.  Here's my hope in this all: "You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again; from the depths of the earth You will bring me up again.  You will increase my greatness and comfort me again" (Psalm 71:20-21).  You think I'm beating a dead horse?  Well, my God's promises never change, and I'm set on proclaiming them... so get used to it, buddy.  Okay radiation, let's do this.

Yours Truly,
Heid