Radiation pre-tests

After speaking to another Doctor out in Tucson, who generously went over my case with another oncologist who handed me the same opinion I had been handed twice already, (though he was decidedly more optimistic than my other doctors had been), I decided to have the radiation. He left me with this: "You should feel good--you've done your due diligence." I laughed, because I didn't feel good at all. After we hung up, that phrase kept repeating, due diligence, due diligence. That was all I could do. It felt pathetic.

I spent the week depressed, and ultimately, resigned- I called and scheduled my appointment for radiation therapy. Preparations: a ct scan to make the mask, (I don't have the details of this, but I'll get them) and an MRI. This is happening Thursday morning. I do not know when the actual radiating begins.

I have decided to start taking anti depressants, because I feel I've been mired in something for some time. It's been ten days of that, and I'm feeling better already. I am writing a lot, and reading a lot, and composing some music. I feel engaged, still, and not totally lost in tumor world, in short. I feel more optimistic. I am trying to be realistic about my situation, about my health. But the focus--last week it was on the fear, the negatives--and I am still,now, very much afraid--yet I am beginning to feel much more positive. I can let go, for a while, of my worries about dying, or of further brain damage. It has been important for me to deal with these anxieties head on, accept them as they are, and not wish them away. I'm sure they will come back--they are more probable to return than the tumor is.

I am resting a bit easier with my "due diligence."

Side bit: I was just back in NY for thanksgiving. My youngest brother, James, had asked if he could come out and visit me, as we'd been talking about for some time, but having the plans consistently pushed off by the tumor.
"Well," I said. "I have to have radiation treatment. I might not be feeling too well for a while." I've been laughing at that phrase, "radiation treatment." Shock treatment. The imbalance of these words, stuck together,improbable and ghastly yet absurdly commonplace.
"Radiation?" he said. "What's that?"
Maybe I should not have said anything, but I always err on the side of being too honest, with James at least, because I know, too well, the pain of being lied to as a child. I don't want to lie to him, but I've been careful not to upset him either. I don't want to spoil his innocence with adult worries. He has too many of those for an eleven-year-old. I continue,"Well, they take a machine and shoot radiation at--"
"They shoot you?" he said, a little panicked. Bad word.
"No, no, they won't shoot me. Aim," I said. "They aim it at me--it doesn't matter. It's just to make sure it doesn't come back. Then I'll be fine. Then you can come visit."
He was excited and happy about this, as was I. And I was glad to get out of the conversation without lying and without frightening him--too much.

But to do so, I had to resort to the thing that has bothered me the most in this tumor business--the often repeated assurance of well-intentioned friends and family: "You'll be fine, I know it, everything will be fine." Sometimes this assurance is couched in religion, sometimes it is not.

I do not share this feeling. I do not believe in a conscious, conspiring god. I do believe that a central importance of my existence is self-awareness. Wishing away my actual situation--hardly secure or definite, a relentless doubt casting its shadow over whatever I look upon--with an hopeful but inaccurate and ultimately self-deceiving narrative--well, it doesn't do me any good. I understand good intentions, and the fact that everyone deals with things differently. My "differently" is focused on being honest and realistic with myself. Yes, the danger is that can spill over to some form of despair. I am watchful. When I hear these assurances, I feel quite alone.

I am glad to receive those warm wishes, still.