⁇ Cancer light – The first bang of the second half

⁇ 15:33 The bell that no one wants to hear

It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. My head was on light and airy, my mood on Friday afternoon stand. In a few minutes, that changed. The voice on the other side of the line tipped my attention from jokes and specialty beers to studies, treatments and words that weigh more than you can bear at the time.

Since that afternoon, I've been trying to write down everything that's going on. Not to arouse pity, but to give my head and heart a place where they can meet. These blogs are my way of understanding, sharing and showing how I deal with this. Sometimes serious, sometimes humorous, but always real.

“Life never calls to ask if it's convenient.”

⁇ Start of a long game

The first half is over. Henro two, cancer zero. The source tumor was found and removed. The prognosis was so favorable that even the doctors seemed to be more relaxed. It felt like a rest stand where you can walk to the dressing room with peace of mind. But now the second half has started and it has a different kind of tension.

Today I had my first radiation of the thirty that are planned. So the counter is on one and my face mask was tighter than any turtleneck I've ever tried to wear. My watch recorded more stress than I felt myself, a small reminder that technology sometimes thinks it knows you better than you do. While in reality I was mainly concerned with breathing quietly and suppressing the feeling that I was in a futuristic cheese shape.

“Sometimes your body knows something that has yet to catch up with your head.”

⁇ The close-fitting mask

The radiation itself was surprisingly friendly. No sound of a runaway concrete drill like an MRI. No endless silence like with a CT. It felt almost efficient. The machine buzzed, lights flashed and within minutes it was over. The real challenge was the mask.

That mask is made not to give a millimetre of play. It's so tight that my jaws are impossible to open. It's an exercise in surrender, in confidence that the people around you know exactly what they're doing. Every time I try to turn that moment into something neutral. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but the machine goes on.

“You don't have to feel brave to be brave.”

⁇ Time we surrender

What surprised me the most was the time. The trip to the MST took more time than the entire treatment. In the rush hour you are quickly twenty-five minutes on the road. You park, walk in, sign in, nod to recognizable faces, wait a moment and then lie under the mask again. The irradiation took less than twelve minutes in total, but Sylvia and I were almost an hour and a half away from home.

Sometimes it feels like the journey counts more than the therapy. As if you do a small mini-expedition every day, with the familiar thoughts along the way. What's it doing to me today? How will I feel later. How much energy does this cost. At the same time, there is something soothing about that rhythm. The world turns, even if you slow down yourself.

“Some trips are short but feel longer.”

⁇ Energy as a daily budget

The day actually started out remarkably fresh. I picked up my Python course again, a 100-day course. Today I did the days one through four and felt almost proud of my own tenacity. After that we had to hurry to the hospital and now I'm sitting on the couch with a blanket. A little deflated, but still clear in my head.

It remains a challenge to save energy. You know the next few weeks can get tough. Talk about blisters in the mouth, fatigue, side effects and all kinds of symptoms that do not adhere to your agenda. My balance is shaky and that makes energy management a sport in itself. Because how do you plan around something that strikes unexpectedly?

‘Fatigue does not have fixed working hours.’

⁇ For now

For now, I'm here. The second half has started and I still have predominance on the field. But there is also realism. The coming weeks will be intense and the final signal is still far away. Yet there is something that remains. It's humor. Rhythm. It's coffee. Lists. And the constant realization that I'm not playing alone.

‘Heaviness may have light. And light sometimes weighs surprisingly much.”