I’m strapped onto a motorized table. My hands grip adjustable holds that are meant to help align my upper body to millimeter accuracy so that the powerful, invisible radiation beam hits its intended target: my tumor. Red lasers find my alignment tattoos. My entire head is encased in a custom mask that was molded to my face during my simulation just two weeks ago. The mask is securely attached to this motorized tray, which will immobilize my head and neck.
It’s a claustrophobic’s nightmare. It is so form-fitting that I can’t even open my eyes or swallow. The table raises and inserts me into the radiation machine.
The nurses asked earlier if I preferred any type of music during the procedure. I asked for Beethoven, an homage to the classic A Clockwork Orange. I should’ve asked for silence as the machine was noisy and their music service’s algorithm apparently did not have access to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
The treatment itself was over in minutes and was painless, as expected. The side effects usually kick in 2 to 3 weeks after treatment begins.
Just 34 more of these to go.