CANCER: DEE-nied

Why do I bother? Really? I trust. I believe. I MAKE PLANS. And every time, shit ends up going sideways.

Earlier this week, my radiation oncologist nurse, Sharon phoned to lay out the radiation schedule. I was to head over to the clinic Thursday (today) for a my "test run" and then begin radiation on Monday 11/19. The end date was December 12. I marked my calendar. I WROTE IN PEN....

When will I ever learn? 

So this morning, while catching my breath from the taxing work of getting my goofy boys ready for school, I got a call from Sharon. She wanted me to come in 30 minutes earlier to meet with Dr. Spiegel. I agreed- I mean, I DID need to get up and shower eventually, right? Now, in my estimation, he was just gonna do that "hrrrmmpph, hrrrmph" thing that doctors do and then send me on my way. I mean Sharon and I had a plan, right? Why change it?

Dr. Spiegel asked me about my stupid lungs. "Yes, they still burn like fire but I'm adjusting nicely." And "The steroids make me grumpy. I'm adjusting nicely...." He then says: "Well you know, I want to give your lungs more time to heal." He then goes on to say, "Let's delay your actual radiation start date to Monday November 26." Damn. I was like- "No, really?" I mean, why? According to Dr. Pappas it doesn't make a bit of difference. And truly, I LOVE the idea of being done with this shit by December 12. Nope. My new end date is Tuesday December 18. URG! Five days before my birthday; three days before my wild children are released from school. I wanted, no needed more DOWN time from all of this. But, just like the entire year, 2012 just keeps on kicking me in the ass. Spiegel even hedged a bit with: "Well, you know we could push this back to December 4 if that sounds better to you." 

Right....

Today, I added even more members to Team Moy. My radiologist team consists of the incredibly positive: Brea, Win and Sarah. Honest. If I could bottle their energy and sell it to all the cancer patients, I would be filthy rich. 

Let's start with Win. Short for Winfred. He's this 6'2" brother with very, very warm hands. How do I know that? Well, he gave me a foot rub. SWEAR TO GOD! 

Brea is his partner in crime. So, so sweet I almost wanted to hit her. Isn't that awful? Let's blame the steroids, shall we?

And Sarah was at lunch.

Win walked me in to the radiation room. And just like all things Swedish Issaquah, no stone was unturned in the design of this suite. It is INCREDIBLE. They did everything in their power to design a place that makes you feel a-ok about getting your head and shoulders screwed down to a table for 20 minutes a stretch. And that's saying A LOT! 

They have ambient ceiling lighting with arty stuff embedded in it that changes throughout your procedure. They have music piped in- we listened to Adele, Live in Concert. And I was reassured that if I wasn't completely satisfied with their musical selection I could pick. They really don't mind. And they meant it. So, I'm thinking Beastie Boys, Patsy Cline and perhaps Queen. Why not? 

They swathed me in a coveted warm blanket. Win administered a very competent foot rub (seriously....that is the price of admission in my world. So pathetic, I know...) and told me to sit back and relax while he screwed my face mask to the table. 

Fortunately I had taken an Atavan 20 minutes prior. So, I was as cool as a cucumber. They poked, prodded, adjusted- I heard the word "akimbo" more times in one day than I have in a whole year. And 15 minutes later I was getting unscrewed. All done. 

While the wait continues, I have to say that I think I'm going to nail this radiation thing. Granted, the drugs and decent music take me pretty far on that path. But, I'll take it.