radiation: day two

Today is Wednesday, and it feels like the first day of summer, with temperatures hovering around 70 degrees and the sky as blue as yesterday, and just a bit of mist hanging over Edgartown. Any concern I had about that disappeared when I saw Jerry Plante's plane at the MV Airport. It was bigger than yesterday's. I watched a guy with tousled salt and pepper hair and a moustache walk toward General Aviation and I recognized the "Angel Flight" ID badge that hung around his neck. He found me.

I climbed aboard and found 4 seats in the back. Jerry told me to "take your pick," so I chose the side opposite the pilot, facing forward. He offered me a set of headphones to listen to air traffic control, but I remembered my MP3 player today, so I turned him down. As we started to taxi down the runway, Green Day's "Welcome to Paradise" was blaring in my ears, and the wheels left the ground. I think I loaded this song by mistake, but some of the lyrics were fitting, like "This sudden fear has left me trembling, 'cause now it seems that I am out here on my own, and I'm feeling so alone..." Because no matter how many card and phone calls of support I get, sometimes when my day is over and I'm getting into bed it dawns on me that this war is just me vs. cancer. The good news is, this cancer ain't no Iraq, so I'm kicking it's sorry ass.

We landed in Hyannis (actually Barnstable) and Jerry intended to wait for me there and bring me right back. Creepy shuttle driver Dave was waiting for me. He didn't talk much. Today was my first actual radiation treatment, so I was told that from today on, I walk right in, pick a dressing room stocked with fashionable hospital gowns, put one on and take a seat with all the other people with cancer, all of whom, I am noticing, are way older than me. My name was called fairly soon and I followed a nurse(?) to the table I lay on with my arm up over my head. There is a panel on the ceiling in there that is supposed to look like a skylight, with tree branches against a blue sky. The gown is pulled down, exposing my scarred mis-shapen boob (of course) and about 3 or 4 women are measuring, adjusting, admiring my shoes (from skechers), and chatting away and this puts me at ease. After some buzzing and whirring it is over, and I am dressed and standing out in front of the Mugar Cancer Center waiting for the shuttle back to Griffin. One down, 29 to go.

As Jerry and I land on the Vineyard, I check the time. It is 3:55. Less than 2 hours ago, we were taking off. I picked up Gaia and we went to Reliable Market and when I was coming out, I saw Will, riding down Kennebec Ave.on his Harley, his long gray beard blowing in the breeze. He yelled, 'Hey Chris!" and was smiling and waving at me. What a way to celebrate.


Its great reading these again. I had forgotten seeing Will that day and how it made me feel.