Oh, that dang mask.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

How have you been holding up?  I'm being serious!  It's been a week since radiation started his bouts and I honestly have no idea how you're responding.  After all I've been going through though, I can only hope you are nearing your demise.  You are very much the annoying thorn in my side, and I'm doing everything in my being not to be thwarted by your bullying.  I find it very obnoxious that even though you are purely physical, your influence goes well beyond that as you toy with my heart and mind.  Sir, you are a villian; worse than Mystique, Deathstrike, and Callisto (I used to be an avid X-Men fan in high school). You'd like to hear how I'm doing?  I don't buy into your concern, but I will share with you nonetheless.

My radiologist called me last Friday to scratch my radiation run-through all together and reschedule my first time for Wednesday, April 25.  If you know me, I don't like to prolong the inevitable... especially if it's negative; I always want to just get started, get it over with, and move on.  So even putting off my first encounter with radiation for even a couple of days caused me to groan, roll back my eyes, and question the goodness in this world (somedays you just gotta be dramatic, sir).  Thankfully, my best friend from the dorms, Laura Stoll, was with me when I got the call and simply responded with a shrug and a, "I guess Jesus just thinks Wednesday is better."  Love it; her responses are point blank, true, and cause me to breathe evenly again.  Yes, she is certainly right... when my schedule changes, Jesus must be doing something as He "works all things according to the counsel of His will" (Ephesians1:11).  Peace He certainly gives, Mr. Hodgkin's.  

Wednesday finally came (okay, so maybe I still wasn't as patient as I hoped to be), and as the second-hand on the clock turned to 30 past 6, I strolled into the oncology center with sweaty palms and a crinkled forehead.  I tried to mask my apprehension as I signed in even though I was painfully aware of how red my face was (dang redhead problems.  Forced transparency, I tell you).  After a few minutes, a nurse who I have come to know as Alex came to get me.  Pause.  I don't know if she knows it, but Alex has this insane gift of making you feel like you've been friends with her since elementary school.  When I walked into a room marked off by radioactive warning labels and told her I was scared, Alex reassured me how quickly it would go and how we could stop at anytime if it became too much.  When it was time for me to take off my wig and I rubbed the stubble of my strawberry-blonde hair spiking up in all directions, she walked by and said, "I think it's beautiful."  When I climbed onto the treatment table and the latches on my mask clicked into place, she touched my shoulder and asked if I was doing okay.  When they left the room and the lights dimmed, her voice echoed from the speaker above and she walked me through the process the entire time.  In conclusion, I just really like her.  Okay, resume.

Since it was my first time, I had no idea what to expect.  Well, sir, here is what goes down:  Once I'm lined up, the system permits radiation to start his dance to which I am subjected to.  The table jiggles a few times before the process begins (don't ask me why) and then x-rays and radiation machines kick into gear as they circle around me and my mold.  It makes a bit of noise, so my nurses try to drown it out by turning on the radio.  Let me tell you though, it's quite the feat to lay still when 94.5 plays S.O.S. by Rihanna (once a dancer, always a dancer).  But first, like I said, your body has to line up correctly... and that takes up the bulk of the time.

So there I was, with a plastic mold pressing down on my face and chest, and machines whirling around my body.  With my eyes peering out of the baby holes of my mask, I watched it all happen like an innocent bystander.  There are times like this where things seem really out of my control and fear of the unknown can be immobilizing (get it? I couldn't move. Clever, right?).  Even though I had the resolve to stay strong, tears still formed and they still fell... except this time I couldn't wipe them away.  My hands were stationed by these handles given to me at my sides (which, proven by my white knuckles I later had to stretch out, I surely did clench), but even more so, my mask kept me from touching my skin altogether.  So without any other option, my tears flowed freely; all the while I prayed they would dry up before the nurses came back. 

With directions coming from Alex throughout the visit, I had to adjust the angle of my cranked neck, press my nose up even harder against the mold, and try to relax my shoulders.  Relax?  Yeah, that's likely.  However, even though that mask was tight against my body, I somehow wasn't lining up as I originally had, and the system refused to begin radiating.  The nurses thus changed my position time after time for about an hour, but then they sighed and said, "We will try this one more time..."  Like I said before, I hate any delay in something I so badly want to be done, so I prayed, "Lord, PLEASE let this one work."  I probably should have prayed this with the first attempt, because then I heard Alex say, "Perfect, Heidi!  You lined up exactly, so we will start very soon."  Within minutes, the machines again did their masquerade around my body, and before I knew it, Alex came back into the room and said, "You're done!"  They seriously weren't joking when they said the actual radiation part only takes moments. 

So this is what I'll encounter each day, Monday through Friday, until (fingers-crossed) May 22nd.  A little more than 3 weeks away... you have no idea how sweet the end looks.  Until then, I am still set on living as normal of a life as I can.  I will still drink tons of coffee and explore new consignment shops.  I will still teach my EBC Kid-Os more about living for Jesus and love on my volunteers with all of my heart.  I will still be the queen of sleepovers and stay up late watching Gilmore Girls.  I will still practice my golf swing (my newly-discovered summer love) and my dad and brother will be equally surprised and proud once I give them a run for their money by the end of the summer.  And I will still dream of what the future could possibly hold for me and continue to pray daily for that future husband of mine (who is taking FOREVER to get here).  You see, you haven't changed me, Mr. Hodgkin's.  Maybe you have temporarily changed my sleeping habits and deepened my understanding of sickness in this world... but you can't touch my spirit and you can't snatch me from my God's hand.  My God didn't send me into this world to merely survive it, but to live in victory and joy by the power of His Spirit.  Hear me now; I've got my eyes set on Him for the rest of my days, and you, although evil, are being used for His glory.  You don't think so?  Well, let's just wait and see then, my friend.

Yours Truly,
Heid