My first impressions of radiation

Walking into the cancer center is slowly becoming part of my daily rhythm. The lighting, the quiet halls, the routine of checking in. Because I had already gone through the preparation session, I knew the general layout and what the process would look like. Still, knowing the steps does not take away the uneasiness of why I am there. The treatment is necessary, but the unknowns of how my body would respond were sitting heavily with me.

They call my name and I follow the familiar path to the changing area. I put on the hospital gown again and every time I do it, I wonder why no one has redesigned it yet. This is the least flattering outfit I will ever wear, and I will be wearing it every weekday for a while. It is a small detail, but somehow it adds to the vulnerability of the moment.

Inside the room, the process begins. Positioning, adjusting, aligning the marks they placed during the prep session. It is not the most comfortable position in the world, but it is manageable. The machine starts its routine of humming and moving, beeping and shifting angles. Twenty minutes does not sound long on paper, but when you are lying still, listening to a machine work on your body, it strangely stretches.

At one point the machine turns in a way that brings the ceiling into my line of sight. They have a calming panel installed above, with a warm wood scene that looks like the beginning of fall. It is meant to soothe patients. My eyes, of course, find the one thing that breaks the illusion. Somewhere behind the panel, maintenance left a tool and I can see the outline of it through the light. Everyone else probably sees a peaceful forest. I see a stray plier casually interrupting the calm. My mind grabs on to it, maybe because it is easier than thinking about anything else.

The treatment itself held no surprises. I had researched, read, prepared myself. But the hours after were different. The reactions came earlier than I expected. Some burning on the skin. A bit of swelling. A dry cough that appeared out of nowhere. A tiredness that did not lift even after resting. Nothing extreme, but enough for me to pause and acknowledge what is happening.

This is where something shifted internally. I had been moving through this process with focus, staying on task, handling appointments, organizing plans, doing what needed to be done. But in that moment, the truth settled in deeper. I am in a serious treatment. My body is responding. I am not the same person who walked into that building just a few weeks ago.

It was not a dramatic realization. It was more like stepping into the hardest mile of a long run, the one where you can no longer pretend it is easy. You feel the strain. You feel the uncertainty. You admit it is hard. And then you take the next step anyway.

I am still learning what each of these days will bring. I am still adjusting to this new routine. And I am still trying to balance it with marathon training, which feels almost symbolic now. One foot in front of the other. One session at a time. One day at a time.

This is my experience so far. It is early. It is challenging. It is real. And it is mine.

Disclaimer

This post is based on my personal experience only. It is not intended to provide medical advice. Anyone undergoing treatment should always follow the guidance of their medical team and consult professionals for questions about their own care.