The Tan to Last a Lifetime...

Well.
Let's see here.

The last time I 'graced' you with my flapping jaw was twenty days ago *exactly in fact* and many things were on the horizon.
Yes, we were comfortably distracted with father's day and celebrations of the daddy in OUR life--namely, my kids' lives--who is above and beyond anything we could ever ask for. (Hope you enjoyed those old snaps of years past).

But now, ironically, life is daddy-less. Yes, temporarily. But still. Such irony.

For the past 3 weeks (and one day), the boys and I have been living in Eugene with Aaron's parents--my lovely parent-in-love's--while I undergo daily radiation treatments. So far, it hasn't been more than just an annoyance to the day's schedule--meaning--not much for nasty side-effects.
Certainly nothing like chemo.

Many survivors used the phrase 'a walk in the park' to describe radiation compared to chemo--and sorry if I'm slow to jump on that phrase-wagon--but frankly NONE of this journey has been as nice as a walk in the park. Ha, I wish! However...I believe the operative part of the phrase here is 'COMPARED TO,' but then, what isn't better than chemo, lol! Would I rather touch my hand briefly to a hot stove vs go through chemo again? Yes. Would I rather fracture something? Possibly. Though of course, you could really challenge this notion and make me choose chemo--I'm just making the point that chemo--*cause you don't already know this* was a blecky thing I don't want to do again.
E.V.E.R.

K. Now that that's cleared up. :-P Where was I. Oh YEAH.

So, radiation. It's really not bad at all. *yet* BUT... I still have 3 1/2 weeks to go before I'm done so that story could change. For example, just after talking to my beloved c-sister last night I'd be lying if I weren't now nervous--she's 3 weeks ahead of me and to quote her 'my skin is opening up'--hmmm. How's THAT for a lovely picture?!! :(

My doctor *faaaaaaabulous woman!* tells me that only about 2% of her patients see that kind of awful skin issue though, and waaaaay before my skin did do that *if it were going to* she'd schedule a mandatory break in my radiation schedule.
In other words... that's about the worst it could get.

Ok. So, since many *I hope most* of you haven't experienced radiation yourselves, allow me to give you a brief 'peek' into that lovely world.


Much like with my AC rounds of chemo, the first thought you have when the technicians come and retrieve you from the waiting room, take you through a huge, heavy metal SEALING door that has hazard phrases and symbols all over it, lay you on a bed under the machine that said signs are warning of, set the settings and line you up, make a little 'lightweight,' pay-no-attention-to-the-elephant-in-the-room conversation with you and then LEAVE through the metal sealing door before turning on the machine so as to protect themselves from the harmful rays surging through the room and whole area......is..
REALLY?!
Yep. Disturbing.
But then, it's just one more vivid picture of the MONSTER we're trying to kill.
And WHAT IT TAKES TO KILL IT.
Yikes.

So what exactly is 'life under the machine' like?

Well. The first time I was in there I found myself thinking (aside from the consideration of course of horrible radiation exposure they'd endure), 'I sure wish my boys could see this'--cause it reminded me of the movie Wall-E. This giant 'eye' with a bunch of separate sliding plates that act like a camera shutter to change the shape and size of the 'lens' gets pointed at you. Meantime, you lay flat on the table, inside of a crazy body form they made at the '0-day' appointment with your arms raised above your head, holding onto metal arms and laying as still as possible (minus the breathing). The 'eye' does it's beaming and honking and then 'flies' above you, into another position for another angle. I figured out, within about the first three appointments, that my particular treatments involve three separate positions--once nearly directly above me, once to my left, beaming sideways and then once underneath, pointing up at me.
THEN, every other day is termed 'bolus day' because they lay this silicone-like thick 'skin' across my chest that, supposedly, BOOSTS the level and depth of radiation that my body receives. The whole process takes about 10 minutes (15 on bolus days, cause they have to tape it onto me so it fits snug-ly.)

ASIDE from that 15 minutes a day that I get to receive the world's wrongest form of 'sun exposure,' and therefore the most twisted way of gaining a permanent summer tan--mind you, only on the right side of my body!--we've been making the most of our time as Eugenites. It's weird for me to drive us around--or was at first, anyway--because for the 7 years that Eugene was 'home' for me, despite the 10 years it hasn't been, I still remember my way completely around. Even downtown, which was mildly hazy for me, came flooding back in my memory of what street randomly urns to a one-way, where *cause we ALL know how obnoxiously Eugene streets do that!*, what market and/or eatery is where, etc. ;) The brain is an amazing thing. Even AFTER chemo, ha!

To summarize what we've done (mostly for free due to generosities of friends and/or well-seeking sis-in-law's for free summer-fun), here's a list, in no particular order:

Strawberry picking, Putter's mini-golf, VBS, swimming, Kids Club at the mall, Kids Club at the rodeo grounds, library days, library story-time, farm visits, cousin-time, an Em's game, play-dates, dinner/lunch-outings.

What we have to look forward to still:
Country Club visit and swim-time, swimming lessons at Amazon Pool, another VBS possibly, backyard campout with family, neighborhood block-party for the 4th--complete with fireworks, more play-dates, Chuck E. Cheese, possible $1 movie-night outing, free water park visit, baby cousin's birth?
Yep. We are definitely making the most out of this 6 weeks. An adventure for sure. ;)

It's good though. The boys need me to keep them busy--keep their minds off of their daddy, cancer, and the overall general lack of normalcy in our lives, these days.

BUT. They also still need *as does their mommy* to remember that no matter what--
GOD IS STILL GOOD.

Gray asked me the other day, 'Mom...does your radiation hurt you? To which I replied..'Not really that I can feel, honey...except once my skin gets a little irritated, if that happens before I'm done.' To which he replied. 'That's good...cause if not, I was going to offer to pray about your pain.'

Yep. Thanks, son. Thanks for the reminder that God is still there... and He's still my healer... and He's never stopped seeing and caring for and about us.
So though I'm gaining a funky 'tan' that may never go away, I'm radiatING with something else that has and will last the rest of my life...the ONLY thing I need and the ONLY thing that matters.

God's Abiding Love~