Emotional Roller Coaster

Though I probably should know better by now, I am continuously surprised by how much of an emotional roller coaster having cancer can be.  Yesterday my mother and I went to Brigham and Women's Hospital to begin the official radiation treatment.  I had been anxious all morning about finally starting treatment, in fact one of my coworkers said I seemed a little manic.  Possibly, but I felt okay and in control.  I was alright.  I was going to finally begin treatment.

We drive into Boston, no traffic, easy parking and we check in on time.  The radiation machine is running 15 minutes late but no problem, I have my computer, free coffee in the waiting room and bowls of unhealthy snacks everywhere.  This is going to be fine.  I can handle this.

A few minutes later the staff bring you into the area where the radiation machine is. My mother asks if she can come in to see what they are doing, of course we would be happy to have her come in.   They show you their control room where they will be running the radiation machine.  They politely introduce you to everyone who is on "your team" and will be overseeing your treatment for the next 25 visits.

Then you are brought down a ramp into a large room where there is a bed laid out with this large machine that dispenses the radiation filling up the room.  Turns out that today will be the final fitting for the mask and adjustment for how the radiation will be administered.  They will take some xrays to make sure everything is in alignment, the radiation treatment itself will actually start on Monday.  No problem.

Then everything starts to change.  They put me on the table, they put the mask over my face and lock the mask and my head down in place on the table.  I suddenly start to feel claustrophobic, The mask is tight and my face starts to hurt, I don't know whether to have my eyes open or closed and all of a sudden the table starts moving, gears are turning, things are moving around me. 

Suddenly I am not so alright. This all becomes too real.  I am lying with my head pinned to a table in a plastic a mask with my head needing to be filled up with radiation because there is a damn tumor in my head that shouldn't be there.  Suddenly I want to be anywhere else in the world but tied down to this table, in this room, in the lowest floor of this hospital in Boston. 

Then it ends.  They release the mask, I get up, I am handed a schedule of my next 25 visits for the radiation treatment and told to be back on Monday.

My mother and I don't say much, the valet delivers the car and a few minutes later we are on the road back to Acton.  I'm alright, I can handle this. 

But maybe I can't, because a few minutes later I am driving in traffic on Route 9 and I can't stop crying. 

My mother says "we will get through this". We will, I will, what other choice do I have?   But I suspect that we will be riding this roller coaster for some time to come.