Radiant Rays of Radiation

Today was a gloriously sunshiny day over here in our world.   It was a lovely day too.  I spent a little time sipping coffee in the sun with my beloved Paul, spinning my children around in the backyard and chasing the dog because he gobbled up a tiny, white violet that I had JUST planted.

"Drop it!" I commanded sternly, pointing at the ground in case the dog wasn't sure which way he should drop the plant.
His big brown eyes that always look like they are heavily outlined with black eye-liner, looked mournfully up at me.  He chewed a little on the plant.

"Drop it!" I commanded again and made a slight movement towards him.

My dog's eyes lit up.  "Chase??!!" he thought giddily, "I LOVE chase!  I'll go this way while you lurch that way!!!"  (And yes, I can read my dog's thoughts. )
I lurched and commanded, cajoled and even brought out treats to try and convince the dog to drop the now half-masticated plant.
"HELP ME!!!!!"  the White Violet beseeched, its tiny white face peering up at me from the salivating jaws of my dog.  I am certain he even raised a tiny leaf imploringly towards me.
But alas, I could not get there fast enough and the White Violet is no longer with us.  Yukon ate the first flower I could plant this spring.
Sigh.
This does not bode well for the flower-beds I had hoped to plant in several weeks.
It may, however, bode well for a series on "Plants versus Doggie" written by Moi when I have run out of cancer material for writing.
We will have to wait and see.
And waiting and seeing niggles my memories into remembering that I have left you all hanging with what happens at radiation appointments.   Bad Brigette!
I apologize.

Let's recap.
I am in the last active part of my breast cancer treatments.
Chemo is done like dinner.
Surgery is a thing of the near past.
Medications that I am to be on for five years have begun.
And now, radiation.
I have been receiving radiation for four weeks and I have one more week to go.  Well, technically, one more week plus one day since I began the day after Easter Monday.   But the END is IN SIGHT!
At least the end for now.
And this is exciting!
Well, I am excited.
Paul, Liam, Donovan, Gwen and Lochlan are excited!
My beautiful family and gorgeous friends are excited!
Hurray!  Hurray!  Hurray!
I mean, it has been a slice, but I am ready to BE DONE with poking and prodding and having weird, gross chemicals sloshing around in my body!
I am ready to MOVE ON to whatever new chapter God has in store for my family (please let it be a dull one for a while....?)

And this logically brings us all back to a fascinating grammar question; bah, who am I kidding....ALL grammar is fascinating!  Don't you agree?  When I teach my kids about prepositions and subjective pronouns, I feel surges of extreme excitement welling up inside of me like some kind of crazy excitement-volcano.  I'm sure my kids feel the same way because their body language just screams out "WOOT WOOT WOOT"; I can tell by their slumped shoulders and glazed eyes!!!!

Back to the fascinating grammar question:  if I have been receiving radiation does that mean I have been "radiating" and am I now "radiant"?
Let's get all ponderific on that for a moment.
And now I am wondering if that is even a grammar issue at all or just a vocabulary one.  Hmmm. Confusion has set in.

Let's just collectively agree to get back to radiation.
I am smack-dab in the middle-ish of radiation treatments.  (snore, RADIATING sounds so much coolerer.  )

If you recall, I am often RUNNING to radiation because I have a punctuality issue.
Let's not get distracted by the need to remind me that punctuality is a wonderful thing, because I am aware of that and strive to be better.
This is why all the clocks in my house are 15 minutes ahead.
And my wrist watch is 17 minutes ahead, but that was a bit of a mistake since my wrist watch and I had a little misunderstanding when I went to change the time on it.  Snippy watch!  So it remains just a little ahead of all the other clocks in my residence.
This clock-aheaded-ness keeps me a little more on time.
A.  Little.  More.
But there is still the need - daily - for a jaunty jog to Juravinski.  But so be it, exercise is good for me, right?

I run, I arrive, I change into a hospital gown, I wait.
Veni, vidi, vichi, right?

The wait time is very short.  This is a new thing at the Juravinski Centre since almost everything else takes SO LONG!  I have hardly anytime at all to read about David Beckham or Prince's passing before I am called back to the Salle du Radiation also known as the Radiation Room.  There is a familiar team of radiologists that meet with me each day.  Cara, Melanie, Jeremy and a few others whose names I have forgotten.

We exchange pleasantries as we walk along the corridor that curves around from the waiting room and spills into the large radiation room.  Maple leaves are etched in a mosaic pattern along the floor of the corridor and more maple leaves decorate the drop ceiling.  

Nature mimicked to relax patients?

The walls are painted the warm colour of a double-cream coffee.
Two giant computer screens flank the room; my name is boldly printed at the top of each screen along with a screen-full of numbers and information that I don't understand.

There is a curvy mirror on the ceiling - you know, those ones that allow you to see around corners?

A ginormous grey machine dominates the room.  I'm going to go with that being the Radiation Machine and not the coffee maker. It is huge and has a giant swooping neck that curves around and attaches to a round grey head with a screen-like face peering down at the bed below it.
The bed is a hard, grey surface that is cleverly disguised as a bed by a clean, white sheet that is draped over it before I arrive.
My team and I approach the bed and I lie down on my back.

My blue-patterned hospital gown is nudged to the side so my beautiful scar is exposed.  
Left hand is raised up and positioned in this arm-holding-thingamajig.  Skin stretched tight over bone.
And then the team gathers around my prone self to position me in the exact same pose each day.

"Just lie there.  Don't help us move you." They instruct and this part is kind of fun.
I just hang out all dead-weight and they grunt while they try to roll, shove, and position me properly.

"Okay, good!  Perfect." they will say when all is positioned well.  Then a block is placed on my diaphragm just for fun.  Just kidding!  That would be weird!!!
A block is placed on my diaphragm and that block sends a computer signal to a screen that is moved so that it is inches from my face.

The screen shows a thick blue line in the middle of it and a thin yellow line near the bottom.  The yellow line moves up and down slowly matching the rhythm of my breathing.

"Hey cool!" I thought the first time I connected the block purpose to the breathing line.  When I breath in, the yellow line moves up.
Exhale, yellow line moves down.
Inhale.....yellow line up.
Exhale.......yellow line down.

You get the point.

The purpose of this screen is to help me see how much I need to inhale so that I can lift my chest cavity up and away from Mr. Heart because we don't want him to get radiated!  No way, sirree!
When I am told to, I inhale deeply enough so that I see the thin yellow line make its way up to the thick blue line.
The visual helps a lot.

So, I am positioned and have my cool block on and then the radiologists turn out most of the lights and scurry out of the room.
This always makes me feel a tad uneasy.
Why are they scurrying away?
Are these radiation rays THAT dangerous?
Because they are being zapped at my body.
Daily.
For five weeks.
(whimper....)
The radiologists are gone but a camera faces me.  I would finger wave or pull a face but I am not allowed to move.  Only breathe in and out.
Then a disembodied voice speaks from a speaker on the ceiling.

"Okay, Brigette, when you are ready, take a big breath in." someone says.

I inhale and watch the thin yellow line on my little computer screen move up up up and make its way into the big, blue-line zone.  I hold my breath and the yellow line stays there.

BRRRRRRZZZZZZZZTTTTT, go the radiation rays, BRRRRZZZZZTTTT.

"You can breath normally now," the voice gently instructs after several seconds have passed by and the rays are no longer radiating.

zzzzzzzzrrrrrrmmmm  whir whir whir click click click whir goes the ginormous grey machine as it slowly swings its big, grey face around to another vantage point.

I am told to hold my breath again.  Lift that chest cavity.  Hold.
zap zap zap
This happens four separate times.  I am radiated from the front, back and both sides.  I have nice reddish skin to show for it.  It almost looks like a tan.  Almost.

I am still.
My eyes often gaze into the curved mirror on the ceiling because it is right there in front of me.  What I see no longer bothers me much but it did at first.  There is a girl in that mirror.  She looks so fragile in that hospital gown.  Her body is scarred and disfigured.  Her arm is held back at an awkward and painful-looking angle.  The first time I saw her, tears slid down my face but I could not wipe them away because I was not allowed to move.  
Helpless.
The sight of her doesn't make me cry any more.
She's my new norm.
I am still.

"Okay, Brigette, we are all done.  You can relax your arm," the voice instructs and soon my team has rejoined me.
We exchange some more pleasantries.  I find out one of the radiologists has a dog and teenaged children.  Another grew up in Elora and went to Central Wellington District High School.
"Hey, I went there too after I graduated from Emmanuel Christian!" I say, astounded once again at how small our world can seem.
"What?  Cool!"  she says and puts my diaphragm-block away.  My bed is lowered.  I swing my legs around and sit up.

"Well, see you all tomorrow!" I cheerily say.
I reach around to grip my gown shut and breeze on outta there.

Ciao,
Brigette

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.......Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."  Psalm 62: 5, 6, 8