Flesh of my Flesh

Ann McCusker

On February 20th 2008 I began my first day of radio-therapy. A treatment I was to endure for the next six weeks, Monday to Friday.

On the 19th of February I had been tattooed on the lower back. Green laser light was measuring the exact science needed for my treatment. Everything was ready for the next day.

I came with my card along with other people who were there for treatment. We all went to our separate places and waited to be called.

I lay face down and a radio-therapist on either side of the table positioned me ready for the ten minute stint in the machine.

My fear ground through the table and I thought my heart would have to stop out of sheer exhaustion. I heard the radio-therapist slap the button and the treatment began.

There was a heavy droning noise. My ears thundered in terror and suddenly I realised I was involved in some great battle. Between the light and the dark. I knew then, that all of us who had come down in the van that morning that said CANCER SUPPORT were involved in a great fight to the finish.

Like the knights of old. I saw men pick up the gaunt led and courage shone on their face. The women carried the all important gel that held us all together, namely the ability to create a caring group.

We all fought the ghosts of the night. When in the long dark hours, shadows and demons come to haunt us. The back and grey of the tomb I felt was out to get me. Lady Lucrecia was awaiting my arrival. I hoped she would have long to wait.

Fear rampaged through my heart as I felt my bones soften, change into something other than me. Surgery was painful. Especially on the spine where all the nerves are. But somehow this painless incursion into my body space, my essence, for me for as long as I live, was worse.

I called out to God. I wanted someone to hear. But silence overwhelmed my heart. I thought of my Mother who was dead. Dead from cancer.

I thought about the battle ahead. It was not as bad as the battle others were fighitn around me. But still my thoughts returned to me. I can only be me.

For a few moments I became an existentialist. Understanding the world of pure angst. My thoughts were trying to unscramble themselves from my confusion of feeling and experience. I remembered the rationalist maxim of Rene Descartes. Cogito ergo sum. I think therefore I am. For that moment I had to be content.

The radio-therapists provided a large tin of chocolates, Cadbury's Roses, after our 'treatment'. We sat in comfortable chairs enjoying ourselves. I shall always be grateful to the radio-therapists for their kindness. And to Cadbury's for their delicious chocolates.

I am pleased that suffering only comes in bits. That grief and mourning, is dished out in spoonfuls. Grateful that my skin continued to look all right, even when I felt all wrong.

I am glad it's over with. Pleased not to re-visit that period. Just merely recognise for myself that I walked through hell and came out somebody else.

I was not brave or courageous just faced with a situation that meant I had to decide between "a rock and a hard place". I still don't know which one it was I chose.