Well, well, well, the first day of radiation and (bonus!) half-dose chemotherapy has arrived. There’s a strict schedule for when I have to stop eating, take my anti-nausea medication, and then take my chemotherapy pills. It feels clunky now, but I’m led to believe that it’ll become a lot more automatic as I get more practice. It sounds weird to say out loud, but I’m kind of looking forward to it. The more steps I can actively take to fight this whole thing, the better and more empowered I feel.
As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, the radiation oncology technicians made me a sweet mask that fits over my entire face and then snaps (buckles? – I don’t really know) my head to the table on the beam machine. To make it, they took a sheet of perforated plastic, soaked it in hot water, and then stretched it down over my face while I lay on my back. The three of them then fanned my face with what I can only imagine (hey, my eyes were closed) were giant palm fronds (making me feel seriously awkward and self-conscious) in order to cool off and rigidify the plastic. When I’m snapped (buckled? I need to pay more attention to the details!) into the table, I like to think of myself as somewhere between Leonardo DiCaprio in “The Man in the Iron Mask” and Hannibal Lecter in “Silence of the Lambs.” It’s the little things that keep me going, people. If I can get some snaps of the mask, I’ll try to post them here another time.
I’ve also been encouraged by one of my colleagues (you know who you are!) to request the CAD model of my brain so that we can print it out back at Olin. I mean, that is actually kind of rad. Any meatball with access to a 3D printer can print *a* brain, but how many people can print *their own* brain? (Though, I can’t recommend taking the route I’ve taken to secure a CAD model of *your* brain.)