CANCER: Why the Caged Bird Sings

Radiation started today. One down, sixteen to go.

Interestingly, last week was the first full week in many, many months when I didn't have even one appointment with someone wearing a white coat. And you know what? I didn't miss any of them or that at all. In fact I reveled in my freedom until it all came to a crashing halt this morning.

Now don't get me wrong- I see and YES, even FEEL the light at the end of this stupid tunnel. However, what journey would be complete without some sort of epiphany? Puh-leeze. Even through the Atavan, I can reflect.

Here's what I learned: those radiologist technicians who refer to that crazy thing they put on my face as a "mask" are liars. It would be more honest, and therefore appreciated to call it a cage. Sure, it's white and it went on all warm and spa like. But things changed quickly once that stupid thing hardened. It is so stinking tight that there's no room to open my eyelids. Breathing? Sure, I can do that. But let's say there's oh, an earthquake? There's no shouting for this sister. While caged, I'm reduced to Elephant Man-like drooling and grunting. And personally, this little dose of humilty is probably good for my karma or some shit like that.

Also, I've been on a wonderful month-long dose of steriods. I happen to really like them, as my lungs are nice and pain free. And the weight gain has been pretty minimal- at least according to my pants. But, my face. Now that's another story. I've always had a little head with pointy cheekbones. Those have been softened (read: fatter) thanks to the drugs. My lovely nephew told me he really liked the new "Cupcake Queen" because I look healthier. And, well....when I was fitted three weeks ago for my cage, my face wasn't as well, full. When they slapped that stupid thing on me today, my throat was constricted. Cheek bones were squeezed up in there like a fat kid in Mini Cooper. It was anything but pretty. And, get this, once the treatment was over, and I was freed I had these crazy ass marks like I was sleeping with a collander on my face. You know, twenty years ago that probably wouldn't have been a problem. I would have been able to, oh I don't know, drink some water and POOF! the marks would disappear. Unfortunately middle-aged me and collagen aren't on the best of terms. I mean, seriously! It takes three hours for the sheet marks to erase from my skin on a daily basis. Can you imagine just how long it's gonna take to get these marks out of my skin?

And, what do I do while in my plastic prison? I'll tell you- I don't spend a second of time worrying about my pocked up skin. Nope. I fall asleep. With lovely Atavan on board, I pop off to slumber land and allow myself to think happy thoughts and hallucinate. Nice.

I mean, what else can be done? Feet bound, head and shoulders screwed to a board for 30 minutes. I KNOW why this caged bird sings. Drugs. Plain and simple.