Things We Do for Love

Upon walking into the room for my first radiation treatment, I did that thing my dogs do. No, I didn't pee on the floor. I froze. All four feet (2 arms, 2 legs in my case) dug in.
"I can't do this."
The techs offered some comfort, but their words were static noise interfering with my my fear frequency.
"I have to ... no, I can't do this."
I mentally revisit a conversation with my oncologist where she said, "if you don't do the radiation, you'll leave "cure" on the table."
I can't believe I have to do this.
The techs are coaxing me forward, "you can do this. It's easy. You'll get used to it."
Hold it! I have to get under the high tech fry-o-matic?! I'm still afraid of tanning beds!!
I tanned for my wedding. I had to. My husband was working in Houston (where it's 100 degrees every day) and I was working in Pennsylvania (where it rains every day). I didn't want to be the Great White North bride with the fresh-off-the-golf-course tanned groom in our wedding pictures.
The tanning bed was hot, light tube lined coffin that made frequent cracking noises. I never could close it all the way - too creepy. I hated every tanning minute, but I endured it because I wanted great wedding pictures.
Now I'm hoping for a different picture.
I want this moment: A pretty lady on the beach, standing in the shallow water, her arms reach as she calls, "come here baby, come to grandma." A diapered chubby cherub toddles toward her, his bright smile a pure delight, as he high steps over the cold water to that nurturing heart, to be wrapped in love."
I step forward and position myself on the radiation table.

Heat Wave

The August heat sizzles on my head slowing my thoughts. I want to follow my dogs' lead, go for a morning stroll and snoozeaway the day.
I'm following my own lead.
A Hemingway junkie, this week I read The Old Man and the Sea, and I'm still digesting the story. Via this book, Hemingway won a Nobel prize for his influence on narrative voice. At the end of his life, the old man goes fishing. He says he has no luck, but he has precision. He catches the biggest fish ever, too big for his boat, and the sharks tear all the meat from it before he can get it home. So, he didn't get the money for the meat. What did he get out of an ordeal that nearly killed him? A great fish story.
Precision is what I need from my radiation treatments. And a little luck. A great story would be nice, too.

Time Off for Bad Behavior?

Radiation. An element that you can't touch, taste, smell or see, yet we're all scared of it.
It's a dreaded thing.
I told my radiation oncologist, "I grew up near Three Mile Island ... what do you say we shave off a few of these treatments and call it even?"
She said, "Thanks for playing."
"What about the near melt down in '78?" (I was living in Florida at the time, but it was worth a try).
"Hmmph."
"OK, I stand really close to my microwave oven and I'm pretty sure that one time my lead apron fell off during dental x-rays."
"No deal."
Crap.
It's amazes me that any of my generation is still around. As kids, we didn't wear seat belts (and most cars had metal dash boards-- that leaves a mark!). There were no bike helmets. We gave kids a lift on our bike handle bars. I had "clackers," two glass balls suspended on a string that one could hit together. Station wagons, the mini-van of the 60's-70's: how many of us fought to ride in the way back of the that car (no seats)? Neighborhood kids rode their bikes--behind the mosquito spray truck!
But, we had fun! We left the house in the morning and didn't come home until dark! Unless we were hungry. We got into mischief and caused trouble.
I had a bountiful childhood, a life without limits!
Too, I'm glad I didn't have to carry a cell phone with me when I walked the eight blocks to the community pool or went swimming in the lake at Mt. Gretna.
Scary things consisted of "B" horror films, like "Die Monster Die," the Comet, the roller coaster at Hershey Park and the old abandoned farmhouse that my cousins swore was haunted.
Our kids are sheltered. There's more things to fear; parents can't let their kids roam. Too much to worry about.
At the same time, we are, all of us insulated, thinking if we eat the right foods, work out at the gym, drink alcohol in moderation, pass on the smoking, drive the speed limit, buy one of those hang upside-down things, that nothing bad will happen to us.
But life comes without a seat belt.
Life owes us nothing.
So, during each treatment I'll think of childhood walks in the farmer's field, hoping the electric fence wasn't working, riding my bike beyond the limits (sans helmet), driving my '65 VW, no seatbelts, windows down, hair flying, engine in the back driving me forward.