Mini Meltdown - Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Facing this process of radiation has been making me feel as though I have been emotionally catapulted back to July when I was deciding whether or not to do chemo. Today, as I entered the room to be set-up for radiation, the supervisor told me he was going to insist that I allow them to put the permanent marks on my chest as a guide for the machine. I was already feeling unnerved by the whole process, so his statement did not help at all. As I lay on the table with the two technicians and the supervisor pouring over my skin drawing dots and dashes with different colors, and measuring me, the feelings of being pushed to the wall intensified. I was caught between allowing them to have their way and saying, "People, this is my body and I do not want any more permanent marks on my flesh. Thank you very much." Finally, I was weary enough to acquiesce, when they started brushing green toxic paint on my skin. They told me to think about it overnight and let them know my decision the next day. It was then that I lost my composure in front of them and started crying. After apologizing profusely, I explained that it was my birthday and this simply was not the way I wanted to spend it. Then I left and continued crying all the way to work. When I entered the backroom of the store, I could not talk to anyone, but walked straight to my office and fell apart again. Marilyn, ever the mother hen at Martindale’s, marched into my office and asked me how I was. So, I fell apart once more and explained what happened. I was also embarrassed over having cried in front of perfect strangers. Interestingly enough, she seemed to think that the technicians see that sort of emotion displayed often and that, if I did not want permanent marks, I should remain firm in my decision. I still felt badly, but managed to rally emotionally and have a fairly happy birthday after all.