Eight days down; 25 to go. Already, I can see where the routine gets tedious. There’s supposed to be a bell you can ring on the last day. I must check into this and ask if friends and family can come see you ring it.

At one of my sessions I asked what day of the week there was cookies and milk. “If you want cookies,” came the answer, “you’ll have to bring them.” Okay, I shall. Maybe on Valentine’s Day.

The right side of my right breast, as well as my right armpit and right shoulder are completely numb. You could put the proverbial meat fork in me there, and I wouldn’t blink. It’s been this way since my surgery on November 14. Since then I’ve learned that nerves which were cut during surgery are very slow to knit together. Very slow equates to 1/8 to ¼ inch a month. And it’s possible the feeling in these body parts will never come back. I wish I had known this going in. It gets back to my not liking surprises.

And, of course, Earl reminded me that eleven months from today is Christmas Eve!

Every Tuesday Earl and I meet with the radiation oncologist after I have my treatment. He wants to know if we have any questions, and I can usually oblige. (See previous blog post.) But I suspect his real reason for meeting is to observe if the patients are having side effects and how they’re handling them.

To date I’m lucky. No fatigue, no burning skin, no other irritants. But I’m not so naïve to believe I’ll get out of this without having some of these symptoms down the road. I don’t dread them, especially since they are considerably less debilitating than those associated with chemotherapy.  But I’m someone who loves schedules and hates surprises. So if my doctor could possibly pinpoint the particular day that I’ll want to nap, it would be useful for future planning purposes.

I’m not even sure you’re reading this, Dr. G. But if you are, even making up a date would be helpful. Many thanks.

I love to ask questions. I attribute it to my many years as a freelance writer where I had to perfect the art of asking questions that elicited interesting answers without intimidating my subject.

Which is why I’m acquiring the habit of asking one question a day at the radiation oncology department. That’s all I have time for, because the entire procedure is quick. Over the course of six and a half weeks, however, I’ll have a fount of information.

Today’s question was, “Why does the machine make so much noise?” The first time I was “radiated,” I was positive Liam was broken, but evidently that’s his normal behavior. The technicians are probably used to the noises, which they hear from another room anyway.

So I paid particular attention today and here is my assessment. Liam starts by sounding like an electric razor, then moves into a high-pitched sound, before making a noise like the furnace blowing hot air.  Every now and then there are some clicking sounds that make me think Liam is a photographer in his spare time.  And finally, the bed I rest on tends to move a little this way, a little that. It reminds me of being in a car on the roller coaster that is slowly cogging to the top of the first hill.

All this takes about five minutes, and I’m willing to bet it won’t be much longer before I will be as used to the noises as the technicians are.  Still, maybe someone else will find this useful.

Now to come up with tomorrow’s question.

My first week of radiation is behind me, with five and a half more to go. So far, I haven’t experienced any side effects that have slowed me.  In fact, if you believe all I’m doing is thinking about radiation because that’s all I’ve written about lately, think again.  Here are some of the other things I did this past week.

Saw “Paddington 2” with friends and cried my eyes out.  I’m not sure they’ll go with me again if the movie is sad, because I sniffle. Loudly at times. Went back to my trainer, whom I hadn’t seen since my surgery in November. We had two training sessions this past week, and what I learned is how much I’d lost by not working out. Then I mall walked three days with other friends. I am touched that someone is always at the mall when I want to walk. It’s as if there’s a Team Anne out there.

Had a piano lesson and practiced every day while watching a sunset. Both the practices and the sunsets were erratic, but still a pleasure. Also read one book and started another. And today I went to Costco in South Bend with Earl because we were almost out of toilet paper – only 11 rolls left – and he gets snarly about that sort of thing. But now we’re well stocked. We’re also well stocked on green olives too!

So it hasn’t all been about radiation this past week; it’s just that this is the new addition to my regular routine. And when I returned to blogging in November, I went on record as saying this was all about beating the little c. Giving it a Big C name gives it too much power.

Being who you are as much as you can be through all this is how the C gets smaller.

So I asked why it took four people to escort me to Liam’s lair each day. I’m a small woman and have no intention of running away in my purple hospital gown. Turns out, it just happened that way this week, and there is no mysterious or medical reason.

One of the young women is an intern in her last semester at school. She drives from Grand Rapids to St. Joseph and back every week day for her hands-on training. And she receives no pay. Today she was the one who “arranged” me on the table under Liam’s watchful eye while someone else brought the requisite warm blanket.

I’ve come to look at these sessions as mini-power naps, and I was almost asleep this afternoon when the light came back on and my “space” was invaded with various technicians. As I went to change, they said – almost in unison – “Have a great weekend.”

Which, I presume, is code for “Hey, you don’t have to come for two days.”