Radiation treatments begin

My scan markings and my faithful pups who always bring me mommie joy when I get home. You can see my original hysterectomy scar when my journey began in September of '07. Notice how the marking on my abdomen in the first picture is also a cross. I claim my healing. Text messages from my daughters, knowing that their hearts are with me. The companionship of my husband and in-laws Bill and Sandy, the prayers of my parents, sisters and family and the question from my grand daughter, Grandmommie are you going to lose your hair again? I am blessed.

12/8/09

My first radiation treatment. I received my first markings last week and my final markings yesterday. Standing in front of the mirror I inspect the X's so strategically placed. Reality staring back at me as it has so many times before. I look so normal except for the X's. I inspect myself from head to toe. I try to identify anything that is not me.

I arrive at my appointment at St. Mary's North. A beautiful facility, the staff kind and patient. I am digging in my purse for nothing, rearranging receipts, husband at my side, feeling giddy and soulfully unsure. Mrs. Cardwell? Yes? I am escorted to the radiation room. On the way I am shown the area that the therapist will be in and reassured that even though I am in the radiation room alone during my treatment, I am not alone. They are here. They can see me and hear me on the monitors. The therapist walks me to the radiation room. He carefully explains every detail of my approaching journey. I see my scan on the monitor and ask if we can approach it. I ask questions, are these my hip bones, is that my ileum? Is that the tumor? The location of the tumor is a question for Dr. Boppana I am told.

I am assisted to the table and asked to pull my clothes down to thigh level. A towel is provided for privacy and I am assisted to a lying position. I am again instructed to lie still. If I need to cough or sneeze to do so straight into the air and not try to turn my head or cover my mouth. I am given a blue rubber donut to grasp over my breast so my arms stay still and my feet are secured with a wedge and big rubber band to keep them in alignment. My head is placed on a wedge and I am asked if I am comfortable. I am not allowed to move so, if any adjustments need to be made it needs to happen now. I wiggle into my most comfortable position and then am told that I will be repositioned in millimeters by the therapist and I am not to try to assist. I stare at the red lazer in front of me creeping out from the wall like some syfy movie. I can see the red lazers to my right and left in my peripheral vision. I want to turn my head to look but don't. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as a warm moist tear trickles down the side of my face. Don't cry, it could be worse, it could be chemo.

Lying quietly and still on the scan table my mind wanders...I think of Farrah Faucett and the video I saw of her making the sign of the cross as she entered her own scan. In my mind, my cross is made. I am living her moment as my own. I think of my current experience and reminisce my journey to this point. Surreal, as if I am a character in a black and white silent movie. I want to scream but no one can hear me. Only the subtitle at the bottom of the page depicting my words. Detached, playing the part I have been given and needing to stay in character. My stage, my performance, my life. Hoping again for many more years of life. Refusing anything less.

The huge machine makes it's sounds and encircles me. This cold, unfamiliar machine is now my friend. I smile and drift off to sleep as the clicking and mechanical sounds continue like a lullaby. Before I know it I am awakened by a soft voice saying, we're done. Now that wasn't so bad was it?