I was surprised by how anxious I felt. Despite all of the reading about radiation I have done, when it comes down to actually doing it, it’s still rather . . . freaky.

Unfortunately, my husband wasn’t able to accompany me to this appointment, as he had a meeting that couldn’t be changed. I didn’t realize what a calming influence he had on me until I entered the building alone.

I was under the impression that the doctor would meet with me that day, but I was wrong. I learned that he wasn’t scheduled to see me at all (What? I had questions to ask of him!)

A friendly, blonde woman introduced herself as the radiation technician who would be taking care of me. It was impossible to hide my nervousness, so I informed her that I was feeling anxious since it was my first treatment.

I also asked if I was going to have my blood counts done, as I assumed the doctor wanted a baseline before treatments started. In addition, I had questions about my mammogram/hematoma from the week before. So, the technician asked me to change into a gown (waist up) and went to fetch the doctor.

When Dr. K. entered the room, I asked about the hematoma, whether it was “fairly common” or not. He responded, “Well, I think the word ‘common’ is too strong, but it does happen.” Well, yes, I know that it happens SINCE IT HAPPENED TO ME. I persisted, “So, the other doctor told me that the hematoma should be absorbed by my body over time, is that correct?” “Yes.” He wasn’t offering much additional information here. I suddenly felt like the patient everyone thinks is a complete worry wart. “So, it’s okay to go ahead with radiation, I take it?” “Yes.”

My visit with the doctor could be summed up with one word: SHRUG. Don’t get me wrong—I love Dr. K.—I completely trust him and feel that he’s as good a radiation oncologist as they come—but his nonchalance was making me feel that we were on completely different planets.

To him, this was another routine radiation appointment, yet I was treating it as if I were about to strap myself into the cockpit of an F-16 fighter jet (“So you’re saying this is completely safe?”). Silly me.

So off I went to my first radiation treatment. I was taken into a huge room with the radiation machine in the center. I had two female technicians who were friendly, upbeat, and most importantly, seemed to know what the heck they were doing.

They had me lie down on the platform and spent several minutes getting me into exact position, saying things to each other like, “A98.” “A98 confirmed.” “Ninety degrees left.” “Yes, that’s correct, 90 degrees, minus two.” “Ah, breaker one-nine, this here’s the Momma duck, you gotta copy on me, Big Rig?” “That’s a big 10-4.” (Okay, it wasn’t exactly that, but it may as well have been).

Laser-like crosshair beams lined up with the small tattoos that were placed on my sternum and sides. First, x-rays were taken and then Dr. K. came in to double-check that everything was lined up correctly.

I was informed that they would be doing three radiation “zaps.” One would be at an angle from the top and another from an angle below me and behind my right shoulder toward my breast. The third was a special zap that is aimed at my sternum.

Unfortunately, one of the technicians used the word “heart” instead of “sternum” and I immediately became concerned. I told them that, since my tumor was on my right side, I assumed radiation would not have to come near my heart, so this was a concern to me.

They immediately began to backpedal a bit and said that the radiation aimed at my sternum was low-dose and “superficial.” It still concerned me, but I trusted Dr. K., so I knew there was a good reason for it.

I was told that Dr. K. meets with the patients every Wednesday, so I plan to get a lot more details about my particular treatment when I speak to him then.

After several minutes of making adjustments to the equipment and my placement, I was ready for the actual treatment. I was asked if I would like to listen to some music, so I said “yes.” They played Nat King Cole ("Unforgettable . . . that's what you are, unforgettable . . . "). Yes, I enjoyed it; it was relaxing. Can you imagine listening to AC/DC or punk rock while having radiation?

I heard the heavy door to the room close and the big equipment began to move into place. This is the part that freaked me out. Although the radiation procedure is completely painless, knowing what is really happening is a mind-blower.

It’s a disconcerting dynamic. An hour before, I was Dana, the Macy’s-clad, competent employee fielding phone calls and "important" emails. Now here I was, supine and vulnerable, arms over my head, feet strapped together, apprehensive and at the mercy of strangers.

I’ve read that some women visualize themselves at the beach or some exotic vacation spot while they are having radiation. I decided that I would pray. I thanked God for my blessings, one by one, while I listened to the machine doing its business (which was over very quickly, but sounded like forever to me).

I have decided to spend my time during the daily treatments in prayer, thanking God for my blessings and praying for others. It makes it easier to handle and more worthwhile. There’s something about lying on your back undergoing cancer treatment that gives you a real perspective on your life. Somehow, you don’t feel so in charge anymore and the reality of Who is in control hits home. What else can you do but pray?

It was soon over and I was able to get dressed and go home. I intentionally scheduled my daily appointments toward the end of the day so that I could go home and rest afterward. I have been instructed to use vitamin E or calendula cream three times a day in order to prevent burning and peeling. I know it could still happen, but I’m going to try to be diligent about using the cream.

The following day (yesterday), I returned at 3:00 p.m. for my second treatment and got the routine down. I flashed the little bar-coded card under a scanner, headed to the changing room, put on my gown, locked up my belongings, and waited for my name to be called. On the second day, my husband showed up while I was in treatment, but of course, he couldn’t come into the room. He was able to come in afterwards and look at the equipment and see what was happening. For some reason, having someone close to me see everything that is happening to me made me feel less isolated.

I was surprised by my emotions this week. I suppose it’s because I’ve been living a fairly normal routine this last month after chemo. I’ve returned to work and am feeling more like myself every day. This last week, I noticed that I began to feel angry and sorry for myself. Something like, “Why do I have to do this? No one else I know has to do this! I want to be normal like everyone else!”

I think that the reality of having been diagnosed with cancer hit me all over again. I’ve been living a kind of surreal existence these last few months—a biopsy, two surgeries, chemotherapy, and then it all stopped. Life was normal again. The intrusion of radiation therapy into my life was like having a bucket of cold water thrown on me while lying peacefully in bed.

My treatments are scheduled every weekday through March 23rd. As I wrote them on my monthly calendar, I realized, “Wow, that’s a LOT of treatments.” I suppose by the time they are finished, I’ll feel like something is wrong with NOT having them.

I know this entry is way long, but I just want to end by saying thank you to everyone for continuing to pray for me. Your prayers undergird me. I have lots more to say, but I’ll save it for another time. Until then, I’ll be praying for you every day at 3:00 p.m.