I seem to be full of dread at the idea of being invisibly but effectively pinioned prone on a table by huge machines. I’ve been x-rayed more times in the last week than probably in my whole life. (And I was worried about dental x-rays?) But here’s the thing: I’m probably better off than anyone else I see coming and going at radiation oncology, although I probably ask more questions. I think all my doctors consider me a difficult patient.

Last night I talked to a friend who endured the same series of 33 (5 times a week for almost 7 weeks) radiation treatments for breast cancer as I am about to, and at the same radiation oncology center. She handled it, she said, by detaching, numbing out, and pretending she was a robot. She claimed that she never said boo, just went in and did it.

So each of us handles stress in our own way. I find everyone I meet there, staff or the women coming for their 12-minute zap, bald or wigged, starting treatments or almost finished, all of them good-natured and kind.

 Tomorrow I start the real thing–1/33. I’m really feeling terrific these days. Let’s see how long that lasts.