Treatment
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain? I want to know, have you ever seen the rain comin’ down on a sunny day?
I can often find a bit of humor in the incongruity and, sometimes, outright bad timing of life. Yesterday, I experienced one of those moments.
While laying on the treatment table at the radiation center, one of the three technicians came into the room to let me know that the radiation oncologist had approved the two daily alignment x-rays and that they were ready to start the day’s session. Before she left, she stopped at the CD player to interrupt a track playing Enya’s Orinoco Flow–that was funny enough considering these treatments have managed to increase the frequency of my own flows, Orinoco or otherwise…
The stand-in for the Enya CD was a rock compilation from the 60s and 70s. Lo and behold, as Rad’s large arm started rotating into place to deposit its powerful zaps of curative magic, the room was filled with the earthy strains of Creedence Clearwater’s Have You Ever Seen the Rain?
Did the question really have to be asked? After all, I’m here, like hundreds of other patients that came to this table multiple times before me, locked into position, afraid to acknowledge the slightest itch or urge to cough. Wanting to put our cancers behind us, we willingly let mega doses of radiation rain down upon our innards on a daily basis. Believe me, from the day we were diagnosed, we’ve all seen enough rain on our sunny days. The incredibly bad timing of the song made me want to laugh out loud, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my alignments.
For many, the rain will either turn out be a short, unexpected shower or a prolonged storm that they will weather with treatment and persistence. For others, it will create a torrent that may very well sweep them away. While Rad continued to buzz and zap his way around me, I began to imagine the faces and stories of all the patients that pass through this center. I wondered, “How do these professionals deal with the torrents? Are they buoyed sufficiently by the rainbows they help create?”
Following my session, I shared my thoughts with the technicians. They apologized for the song selection, but I told them not to worry. I had found the irony of the timing oddly entertaining. It’s just the way I hear things. I also told them that their skills were for clearing the storms, not for monitoring music selections.
As I left the treatment room, I remembered that there were two rainbows on the horizon. For a fellow patient, also named Dan, it was his last day of treatment. He had originally been diagnosed with prostate cancer and had a radical prostatectomy in 1992. This year, his PSA levels began to rise signaling a recurrence. His doctors believe that this current round of treatment will be all Dan needs. He had been beaming all week long waiting for this day. I sought him out to congratulate him, say good-bye and wish him abundant health going forward. Dan’s excitement was contagious as he wished me the same.
Another fellow patient just finished chemotherapy last week and will have her final day of radiation today before taking a break. Although she will be back for more radiation, today is every bit as exciting as it was for Dan yesterday. I will celebrate her very important milestone when I see her this afternoon.
As I drove home, I had a smile on my face. Yes, we’ve all seen the rain. And, although our storms are different, we all share the exhilaration of catching each other’s rainbows.
http://mynewyorkminute.org/?p=791
I can often find a bit of humor in the incongruity and, sometimes, outright bad timing of life. Yesterday, I experienced one of those moments.
While laying on the treatment table at the radiation center, one of the three technicians came into the room to let me know that the radiation oncologist had approved the two daily alignment x-rays and that they were ready to start the day’s session. Before she left, she stopped at the CD player to interrupt a track playing Enya’s Orinoco Flow–that was funny enough considering these treatments have managed to increase the frequency of my own flows, Orinoco or otherwise…
The stand-in for the Enya CD was a rock compilation from the 60s and 70s. Lo and behold, as Rad’s large arm started rotating into place to deposit its powerful zaps of curative magic, the room was filled with the earthy strains of Creedence Clearwater’s Have You Ever Seen the Rain?
Did the question really have to be asked? After all, I’m here, like hundreds of other patients that came to this table multiple times before me, locked into position, afraid to acknowledge the slightest itch or urge to cough. Wanting to put our cancers behind us, we willingly let mega doses of radiation rain down upon our innards on a daily basis. Believe me, from the day we were diagnosed, we’ve all seen enough rain on our sunny days. The incredibly bad timing of the song made me want to laugh out loud, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my alignments.
For many, the rain will either turn out be a short, unexpected shower or a prolonged storm that they will weather with treatment and persistence. For others, it will create a torrent that may very well sweep them away. While Rad continued to buzz and zap his way around me, I began to imagine the faces and stories of all the patients that pass through this center. I wondered, “How do these professionals deal with the torrents? Are they buoyed sufficiently by the rainbows they help create?”
Following my session, I shared my thoughts with the technicians. They apologized for the song selection, but I told them not to worry. I had found the irony of the timing oddly entertaining. It’s just the way I hear things. I also told them that their skills were for clearing the storms, not for monitoring music selections.
As I left the treatment room, I remembered that there were two rainbows on the horizon. For a fellow patient, also named Dan, it was his last day of treatment. He had originally been diagnosed with prostate cancer and had a radical prostatectomy in 1992. This year, his PSA levels began to rise signaling a recurrence. His doctors believe that this current round of treatment will be all Dan needs. He had been beaming all week long waiting for this day. I sought him out to congratulate him, say good-bye and wish him abundant health going forward. Dan’s excitement was contagious as he wished me the same.
Another fellow patient just finished chemotherapy last week and will have her final day of radiation today before taking a break. Although she will be back for more radiation, today is every bit as exciting as it was for Dan yesterday. I will celebrate her very important milestone when I see her this afternoon.
As I drove home, I had a smile on my face. Yes, we’ve all seen the rain. And, although our storms are different, we all share the exhilaration of catching each other’s rainbows.
http://mynewyorkminute.org/?p=791