another week, another appointment with both the physical therapist and radiation oncologist. my PT appointment was on monday afternoon. nearly empty parking lot, temperature taken at the door, the daily dewine and acton show playing in the waiting room. the PT walked out with a cloth face mask/scarf, and i regretted leaving mine in the car. i had debated wearing it, as it is one of those painting-style n95 masks with a one-way valve; which means, for the most part, it protects me, but not necessarily others, as my breath is making its way out (a very small amount, but still). so it seemed selfish to wear in close quarters. i discussed this with the PT as she had me warm up my muscles on an arm bike, which is probably exactly what you are picturing. more warming up and stretching in the main room, then to a private exam room where i laid on a table while she performed other massages and stretching and YOW some of my muscles did NOT want to be stretched. but that's exactly why i was there. breathe in through your nose... out through your mouth... try not to scream. she measured my range of motion after all this, and i had improved quite a bit since wednesday. she wasn't convinced that i would definitely be stretchy enough for the radiation appointment, but she was hopeful, as was i. on my way out, as i mentioned running next door to giant eagle, she said, "you should definitely wear your mask." i did as i was told, and found that a majority of other shoppers were also wearing some sort of mask. all of us just bopping around, looking like the calmest apocalypse ever. it felt both oddly normal and completely bizarre all at the same time.

wednesday morning i headed to riverside's radiation oncology department, and dr. d was not kidding when she said the patient parking lot is twenty steps from the front door. temperature taken at the door, and i walked to the front desk, where a man in scrubs was chatting with the receptionist. "are you maria?"... why yes, yes i am. he was one of my radiation planning technicians (no idea if that is his actual title, but you get the idea), and he guided me to the changing/waiting room area. i changed into a gown, which was decidedly NOT like one of the cushy white spa robes supplied across the street at the bing center. also, no hgtv playing (no televisions at all, in fact, as things don't seem to take very long in radiation world). i couldn't figure out how to close the gown, probably because it doesn't, so i was resigned to holding it shut. he walked me down the hallway and helpfully pointed out different rooms and various doors and explained where they led and i promptly forgot all of them. we ended up in a room with a ct scanner (a giant medical donut-shaped machine, with a narrow human-sized table that can run through the donut hole), where i filled out some paperwork, and then clambered onto the table, lying face up. my head and shoulders were lying on a foamy air-filled sort of thing, which would eventually become both my immobilization device and arm support. and above me (that is, past the top of my skull, not floating from the ceiling) were two handles, which i would need to grab to get into position. this is, of course, what i had been working toward during the past week. it sounds so easy! reach back and grab the handles! but not in post-surgery world. i had gotten as stretchy as i could at home before heading to the appointment. but i couldn't.. quite.. get.. my left hand.. around.. the handle. i could get my fingertips there, but i needed to be in a position that i could eventually be in for thirty minutes. it became clear it wasn't going to happen, so after another radiation tech showed up, they were able to figure out a new plan. "can you put your hands on top of your head?"... why yes, yes i can! however, we had to try a few different positions, because my long arms and bony elbows needed to fit through the donut hole. we finally found a position that i could hold and return to consistently, and they did some magic with the foamy air-filled thing, which formed and hardened around my head, arms, and shoulders. this would now be mine for the radiation journey.

during all of this, lots of other activity was happening. objects were getting taped to me, marks were being made on my torso, some narrow black goggles were placed over my eyes. meanwhile, my upper body is IMMOBILIZED, so i can't actually see any of these things happening. at some point, dr. d came in to see me, and excitedly waved at an angle where she knew i could actually see her, or at least her eyes and the top of her head and her jazz hands, given that my head was tilted to the right and my range of vision consisted of a small sliver beneath the goggles and above my left cheek. at some point, a disembodied voice asked me, "when is your preferred time for radiation? 9:45a, 11:30a, or 2 o'clock?" (my answer was 11:30a, and to this day, i have no idea who asked me that). the radiation tech asked me if i could see blue and yellow lines in my goggles. i squint and say no. he peers at them and realizes they aren't on. now powered up, i can see a blue rectangle in the goggles, and a thinner long yellow rectangle/line underneath. both stretch across my field of vision, and both are floating up and down, the yellow one moreso. as the yellow line rises and passes through the blue rectangle, the yellow line turns into an even thinner green line. (say it with me... "yellow and blue make green!") after a few seconds, i ask, "i'm looking at my breathing?" "yep!" as the table i am on slides back and forth through the donut, i am occasionally called upon to hold my breath -- specifically, in a way that keeps my yellow breathing line within the blue rectangle (turning the yellow line into a green line, if you are still following along). kind of a weird game, but not difficult. we are doing all of this to determine where my heart and lungs are in relation to where the radiation will be shooting through my chest, and whether my radiation appointments will or will not involve me holding my breath at times, in order to cause minimal radiation damage to my heart and lungs. eventually, i am done with the donut and the goggles, and they slide me out of the donut. i finally glimpse the tiny plastic box that was attached to my torso and recording my breathing, as it is untaped and removed. and now that i have been all lined up and measured, it's time to get inked! i never thought i would get any tattoos, but here we are. nothing exciting though, just three tiny dots -- one on my upper stomach, and one on each side of my torso. they felt like some serious bee stings; extremely unpleasant but not overly painful. these will help the radiation techs get me into the correct position for future appointments. i also have a mark with a clear sticker over it near my bellybutton, though i can't remember if that is going to be another tattoo or not. finally, i am out of the molded form and sitting up.

i am handed a small card with my schedule: a dry run next friday, where i have a radiation appointment without the radiation, so that we have practice getting me all positioned. and then, starting the monday after that, six weeks of radiation appointments, five days a week. the radiation itself probably takes five to ten minutes, and the other fifteen to twenty minutes is just set up and positioning. i am told that this is generally easier than chemo, so i am hoping that is the case. i am expecting some bad sunburns and cumulative fatigue... we will see how it goes. i briefly see dr. d on my way out, receive some aloe vera and aquaphor as parting gifts, change back into normal clothes, and head home. i am oddly tranquil about the whole thing and am mostly just happy that my arm cooperated enough to make today happen.

so goes Week 33 in Cancer Land. the social distancing life continues: working from home, playing board games, internetting, lots of walking around the neighborhood. un/fortunately, i insisted on keeping up with the current cultural zeitgeist, and we are currently six episodes into tiger king on netflix. i hate everyone in it, but can't keep from watching it. life is even stranger than fiction sometimes. let's do this.