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.
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