First Down, 29 to Go

April 26, 2011: My first radiation treatment, over and done. Linds and I drive through a rainy, gray morning to the Cancer Center and arrive at 8:30 on the dot. I meet another great technician, Mary, who is kind and friendly. I love it when she calls me by my first name and smiles into my eyes. We could be friends outside this place. My mask is put on and I'm bolted in, and I can already tell that praying has helped this morning - I don't feel as panicked about my esophagus. That pressing, choking feeling is diminished and I am surprised that I don't feel the need to swallow like I have other days. A tender mercy...

I listen to the buzzing and beeping of the radiation machine. Strange that the noise is a signal of the action - I know I'm being radiated when that beeping sound goes off. There is no pain, no feeling at all, only sound. The machine rotates from one side to the other (and for a moment, I worry that I am being radiated from the left side - a question I must ask Dr. Avizonis). All in all, I hear about five or six beeps. I sing "I am a child of God" and "Teach me to walk in the light" all the way through every verse in my head, and then I hear Mary coming back to stand beside the table. "Okay," she says, cheerily, "you're all done."

Seven minutes. Not bad at all, especially since I was expecting twice that long, at least 15 minutes, of radiation. Seven minutes. Doesn't seem like much, unless you're counting beeps and singing, "Lead me, guide me, walk beside me..." so your mind is occupied with something positive instead of imagining killer beams in your neck. I am relieved to have this first step accomplished. Relieved that number one is done - 29 treatments to go.

Later in the day, I have an appointment with my new family doctor, Dr. Beckstead. I like him immediately. He is soft-spoken and polite, yet I sense a funny side lurking behind his impeccable bedside manner. He does the hard tests first, which helps me relax while we talk health - give him 10 points. He shows me his cool "toy", a voice-activated transcribing machine that types what he says right into the Notes box on his computer - give him 20 points for impressing the transcriptionist. When he finds out that one of my doctors is Dr. Bradley, he says, "Oh, yes, Josh!" Give him a whopping 50 points for knowing my Dr. B. And before he walks out of the examining room, he sincerely tells me that he is here for me, no matter what, no matter when, and that it won't hurt his feelings at all if he doesn't HAVE to see me again for another year. Give that man a gold medal. I'm sold.

It's another great blessing of this journey that my doctors and nurses have all been angels on earth, and here I've added two more today. It certainly makes my daily exchange with the medical field more delightful, more interesting, more positive, and more hopeful. I may be on a roller-coaster, but it's a five star ride!