Treatment Day One – St. Paul’s Cathedral

I completed first radiation treatment today with my team, Mustafa, Diego, and Neil. Mustafa retrieved me from Waiting Room F. He was tall and tan-colored. He took me to the control room where he, Diego, and Neil would watch me on CCTV as the free radicals fly around the lead-walled room where I will lie in cotton pants and Pumas. “This is where we will watch you Mr. Gillham. There is a two-way intercom. You need us, you call us.” He was deft and confident.

I entered the room beyond. Diego was there. He smiled and introduced himself. Diego was slightly built with tightly cropped black hair. He’s currently in training and, like a restaurant waiter shadowing a seasoned veteran, he delivers his verbal details to the team tentatively, calling out laser-guided coordinates with false confidence: 194.4 … 194.2 … 193.9 … 194. Awesome. It’s training day with the nuclear death-blaster machine.

I had already seen Neil pass through Waiting Room F several times carrying patient molds back to the radiation room. He looked like a bohunk beefhead. His hair was slicked back but perfectly parted on the side. It would remind you of GI Joe’s blonde-haired military-man style, but long in back and made darker by the styling oil. Neil's torso was meatier and much taller than GI Joe’s muscular 6 foot frame. Neil was probably 6 feet 6 inches. His demeanor was and will likely remain Soldier 101. He is the mid-level man. Today, he had Diego on a short leash.

I will continue to see these characters 28 27 more times by the end of this journey.

In the radiation room there was country music playing. The radiation machine sat hulking in the middle of the room, surrounded by walls of TV screens and heavy cables. It looked like it should have been on the Alien vessel, Sulaco. I guess it's 10 feet wide x 15 feet long x 8 feet tall. It’s painted gun-metal gray but has pink, orange and lime-colored no-slip shower flowers on the monstrous vertical, round opening. 

My mold waited on the metal table, which clearly was designed to slide me through the flowers and into the machine’s guts. I ducked under a massive metal arm and stretched out flat. A silver man-hole sized circle loomed above my face and neck housing a 10 x 10 inch window through which radiation would stream. 

The whole thing is called the machine's “gantry arm”. It extends above the opening with the flowers and is the size of a heritage oak on its side. Even two Neil-sized men could not touch finger tips around its girth.

From my vantage point on my back, I could see the under belly of the gantry. Inside its window and behind the glass thin dark gray fingers retracted and extended, science fiction come to life, forming a jagged, geometric hole. The fingers are made of lead and light fell through them onto my chest making a matching pattern. “Is that the shape of my tumor?” I asked no one in particular. “It’s the shape of the target field,” said Neil, over and out. “Roger that,” said I. Patient over and out.

I laid passively on the table as Diego and Neil pushed and nudged me alternatively. They squeezed my side skin. They pushed my legs to make my bottom more flat. They raised the table. They moved me more. They lowered the table. They drew red shapes on me. 

Project Dino Nugget.

Diego, whom I was liking quite a bit by now, said, “Okay Mr. Gillham. We’re ready to start. The gantry arm is going to move around you. There is another arm under you, and you will see it as the upper gantry arm goes beneath the table. We’re going to be taking X-rays throughout the procedure to be sure you are aligned with your simulations. This will take about 3 or 4 minutes. It’s important not to move.”

Time stood still. The gantry arm did indeed move and the machine made sounds I had not yet heard. The TV monitors on the walls flickered and changed images in my periphery. The machine’s lead fingers moved constantly forming different apertures as the arms encircled me.

I felt cold. And that was it. The country song ended and the three gents re-entered from the safe room.

Neil was back on point. He nodded to Diego to wrap it up. 

…slight pause

Diego: “I guess that’s pretty much it, Mr. Gillham.”
Neil: “Is that ‘pretty much it’, or all of it, Diego?”
Diego: “………………” breathing, silence, the sound of anxiety.
Patient: “Don’t screw this up, Diego.”
We all belly laughed, even Neil. 

Indeed, that was all.

After the appointment I came to St. Paul’s Cathedral just down the street from MD Anderson. It was 2:53 pm and people were leaving for the day. Clearly I missed my calling.

It was quiet in St Paul’s where I was married to Debra almost 20 years ago. I remember the men’s room. And of course I remember the sanctuary. It loses its impact when there is so much life happening around you – just as there was so many years ago. I recall standing to right of the pulpit when the videographer asked me if I had anything to say to Debra, training the lens on my face, “I love you and I am happy to be marrying you today.”

I texted her a picture of the sanctuary later in the afternoon as she was returning to Austin. 

Now you see why I love her.

Life goes on. I have now had my second dose of chemo therapy pills. I had my first two pills this morning and another three tonight. I am fighting the side-effects now even though I don’t feel anything yet. I feel great.

Thank you all for your prayers and thoughts. Thank you for taking care of my family while I am out of pocket.

Wade out.