On Friday I had my radiation planning session. I lay in a CT scan machine while technicians drew all over me in sharpie, repositioned me, scanned me, and eventually tattooed me with six little dots so that the beams of radiation would be aimed perfectly.
One of the oddest things about this experience is that so many of these events would have been significant just on their own, but they're all piled up together so I don't have much time to fuss. I never imagined that my first tattoo would be a scattered bunch of dots representing the Boobie constellation.
Other things that happened: my foot continued to hurt, and I went to a foot doctor who told me there's not much to do for it but ease back into walking. (Being semi-immobile is unbelievably frustrating.) We said goodbye to a friend and ate incredible Cambodian food. We got a flat tire on a really busy downtown road. And we're in the midst of moving from our old apartment to a new one.
It's strange to be moving in the middle of treatment. The old apartment was the one where I got diagnosed, where I looked at my body in a bemused way as I showered after my first surgery, and where my family came up over the holidays so I wouldn't have to travel during chemo. We never intended to stay there for more than a few months (it was a short-term lease), but leaving it behind is confusing.
However: our new apartment is incredible. My fiance, his family (my family now! They are an awesome family) and our friends have been absolute heroes about moving while I grumpily nursed my foot. We have our own place with furniture that's ours. It's peaceful.
What else? Oh, I went to an art gallery event for young people with cancer. It was put on by my hospital, and was the fourth in a group of visits. The other patients are wonderful, brave people. One woman got cancer when she was 23. We talked a bit about the 'theme song' music we listened to during treatment, and she shared hers with me:
I was a big Dave Matthews Band fan in high school. This was one of my favorite songs, and it's strange but appropriate to hear it ten years later in a cancer context.