Radiation Station

I have a new best friend at radiation.  His name is Dick and he is from Wisconsin.  I like to refer to him as "Dickie from Wickie."  He appears to be about 112 years old and gets laser beamed right after me every day.  My appointment is at 10:45 and his must be at 11.  He's a big Badger guy, and I'm a big Buckeye girl and we have the Big Ten in common.  There is really no point to this story.  I just want to remember Dickie from Wickie--and the way my brain works nowadays I am afraid I will forget how he sat in the lone chair outside the zapper room waiting for me to be done.  The on deck chair.  

You don't get to make as many friends at radiation as you do at chemo--because it goes so quick.  Like 20 minutes start to finish.  I was nervous at first, because I had to  sign my name in at the front office and then walk to the dressing room all.by.my.self.  Not a big deal, right?  Except that those doctors' office hallways are like a corn maze.  At any turn you could end up seeing someone buck nekkid in a patient area or walk into the break room and see all of your therapists eating donuts or accidentally end up in a restricted radiation zone.  Luckily this never happened, but it sure as the dickens caused me anxiety.  Not like I need a Xanax anxiety, but elevated heart rate anxiety. 

Anyways, I figured out the corn maze right quick and learned how to sign in and strut through the front office like a hot shot.  I'm pretty sure all the newbies in the front waiting room were looking at me with admiration--knowing that I was a seasoned professional.  

This has been my routine for the past six weeks.  Once I get through the maze and into the ladies dressing room I rip open the plastic bag for the coralish pinkish colored gown.  Pretty sure it's my color.  I never even tried for the green or maroon ones.  Creature of habit.  I have had a good response so far to radiation--so I don't want to jack it all up by messing with the color of my open front gown. Makes total sense, I know.   Plus it matches my lipstick pretty good.  I am way more into make up now.  I suppose that happens when you are at the fugliest point in your life!  Hoda and Kathie Lee are always playing in the dressing area.  God I love them.  Always boozing and talking about the Bachelor and Brangelina.    

Sadly, there is never anyone that speaks English in the waiting room with me.  I always like to hear everyone's story.  I know that I have mentioned it before--but old people get competitive with their medical woes.  Like always trying to one up one another with who is worse off.  It's a pretty fun game to play, and I always get bonus points for being young and having little rugrats.  But I only had a lady that no speaka Ingles with me, and I couldn't ever play a round of "I'm closer to death than you are."  Bummer.  But then I do have Dickie from Wickie.  So there's that.  

After "Ms. Klausing" gets called by one of the radiology peeps I walk the maze back to the zapper room where I have to say my birthdate for the one gazillionth time.  Then I have to lay on a table built for someone with the waist size of Barbie.  I know that I am of sturdy German stock, but I don't know how some folks fit on that sucker!  Once I am all lined up with my new dot tattoos, the radiation folks leave the room and it feels like someone is moving the table around with a joystick.  I doubt that is what happens, but that is what it feels like.  Then this doohickey whirs around me for about 10 minutes and I'm done!  On Mondays I meet with my awesome radiation onco or his PA where they check out my savage tan skin.  Wondering how I know my doc is awesome?  He is a Buckeye.  Good looking AND smart, like all of the OSU grads I know!  

The only adverse effects I have had from radiation are extreme fatigue--more of that here in the final weeks--and at one point I felt like I had a chip or pill caught in my throat for a couple weeks.  That was from the radiation messing with something in my throat.  I have what they call supraclavicular radiation.  At least that is what I think they call it, and they laser beam my left armpit up to the left side of my neck.  They adjusted it and the caught chip went away.  And I was glad, because that was about as annoying as getting a Facebook message telling you to copy and paste AMEN or else you love the devil.  I just started getting blistering and burning on my chest and in my armpit, but I am pretty sure I did more damage in 1990 slathering baby oil on and laying out in my backyard with a pink pastel ghetto blaster, a neon bikini, and lemon juice in my hair.  Savage tan then and savage tan in my left armpit now.  My left armpit that I can't wear deodorant or shave.  So you might want to keep your distance.  

My third major portion of my cancer treatment is almost over, and I have what appears to be a cigar burn mark on my left shoulder from radiation to serve as a sweet memory.  Now on to the next segment, the six month chemo trial!

My radiation office in Cape Coral.  Lucky that it is only about 5 minutes from my house.

Repping Ohio State on my first day

My first day!  Right after the momentous OSU/Michigan game

Always going with coralish pinkish.

Just another examining table.  It's like my new davenport.  

In the waiting room.  I had taken another picture but I looked way too humongous in that sucker.  

The Christmas tree that greeted me after getting zapped!  Happy Holidays 2016!

The doohickey