My Bout with Cancer – Part Four

The folks at Radiant Radiology, a part of Providence Regional Cancer System, are great. They answer questions and explain upcoming procedures patiently, thoroughly and clearly. After taking our wounded car to the body shop to get a repair estimate (see PART THREE), we took my wounded face to Radiant for a second consultation with Dr. Allen. He explained that first they would scan my face to mark off the area around my nose to be radiated, and they would build a special mask for me so that in every treatment (five days a week for six weeks) the radiation would hit precisely where it is needed and nowhere else. “If you have time we can do the scan today,” and I said OK.

He explained—for the second time but in more detail this time—what side effects I could expect. No superpowers, I won’t be radioactive, and I won’t turn orange or glow in the dark. He said I will tire easily. That’s nothing new. I’ve been wearing out easily since the first surgery at the end of January.

He said I’ll have an excuse for napping without guilt, I told him I’ve never let guilt stop me from napping. I can expect a burning sensation in my nose. For six weeks? Lordamighty! And it will burn off, part of my mustache, permanently. I guess I’ll shave off my entire beard and be beardless for the first time in about 30 years. Will my friends even recognize me? My grandchildren? Gabi is suggesting we videotape me shaving it off. She’ll probably post it.

Next, a nurse escorted me into the room where they do the scanning. While I lay on my back in front of a cat scan machine or something very much like it, while Dr. Allen and three nurses hovered over me and discussed where to mark up my face with a magic marker while also chatting about this, that and the other with me, and I tried to respond with a tube in my mouth. One of the nurses said she liked my otter socks.

Dr. Allen said he just found out that my wife and I were both artists and asked, of course, what kind of art I made. I said something about something I did in college and the nurse said, “When were you in college, the seventies?”

“No, the sixties.”

“College in the sixties must have been something.”

“Not really. I was in Mississippi. In Mississippi, the sixties didn’t happen until the seventies.”

Then they put stickers all over my face and rolled me into the scanner. The scan took two minutes, and then we were done. We’ll start the radiation regime sometime in mid-to-late April.

But wait. There’s more. The doctor said my taste will change. It already has. I don’t like beer anymore. Before the first surgery, I enjoyed a beer every evening before dinner. My favorites were Trader José Dark, Irish Death and Drive Thru Red. Now I can’t stand any of those. Now I enjoy a glass of wine before dinner instead.

In the meantime, I get to rest up and work on my next two books and other things.