Perspective & Planning

Suddenly having cancer doesn’t seem so bad. Donald Trump was just elected President of the United States of America.

So yesterday was ‘interesting’. I had my radiotherapy planning session at The Alfred hospital. I’d been dreading this ever since my doctors told me I’d need to have a mask made for my daily radio treatments. Immediately I had visions of wet plaster being poured onto my face, being left to set into a plaster cast and essentially burying me alive.

It wasn’t that bad. What was bad was the MRI I had before it. This was my third one since all of this sickness crap happened so I figured I was becoming a bit of a pro and would handle it with ease. How wrong I was. While to the casual observer I most likely wasn’t showing any signs of obvious distress, on the inside I was FREAKING OUT. They gave me ear plugs but it was still ridiculously loud. I had to lie deep within this space age machine for almost half an hour with what sounded like different pitches of car alarms going off inside my head. Just as loud as the ones you hear going off in your street, but they were going off inside my head!! How on earth can that be good for someone with brain cancer?! How the fuck I got through it I’ll never know. But what I’m learning from this whole having cancer thing is that I’m a lot stronger than I ever realised. Oh yeah and that Valium really helps too!

So the mask making really did feel okay after the MRI. There were a few nurses involved and they were all super lovely and reassuring. My Dad was allowed in the room to hold my hand as I lay on yet another space age looking machine. As they came towards me with what I can only assume was a warm latex type material I once again closed my eyes and hoped for the best. It felt like a warm face cloth at first. The nurses started pulling it away from my face as it started to harden and were calling out measurements and drawing on it. But they told me what they were doing as they were doing it and also kept telling me how well I was doing. I couldn’t really talk or smile through the mask so I felt a little rude for not responding, but hey I guess they understood. The final part of the whole process was a quick CT scan. Everyone had to leave the room for this. I heard one of the nurses tell my Dad this. But he was so in the zone God love him that he didn’t hear. I tried my best to communicate with my hand that he was still holding. At first I squeezed it extra hard as if to say, ‘thanks you’ve been great but now it’s time to go’. When this didn’t work I took my hand away and started hitting his (gently!) as if batting away a fly. This didn’t work either. Finally, I heard the nurse address my Dad directly ‘Sir, you’ll have to leave the room now.’ I gave him a thumbs up as he left the room.


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