Tomorrow I begin radiation therapy at the MMC radiation oncology center.
My head will be fixed to a padded table with a form-fitting plastic mesh mask, and my feet bound together with a rubber band. The table will rotate into position beneath a huge dark glass eye. Then a beam of photons will penetrate my brain, delivering the power of about 1,000 X-rays. ([10. The standard unit of measure of absorbed radiation is the gray. See this page from radiologyinfo.org for more information on radiation absorbed in typical imaging procedures, which varies depending on location. For example, spine X-rays are approx. 1.5 millisievert (1.5 milligray for photon radiation) and abdominal X-rays 8 millisievert. I am scheduled to receive a typical adjuvant radiation therapy dose of 2 gray per session, according to the radiation therapy technicians at MMC.])
The goal is to kill the cancer by damaging its DNA. The radiation will focus on the tumor cavity, but the target area will extend into healthy brain tissue. Healthy cells will likely die, too. It’s possible I will suffer what they call “cognitive impairment”. The odds are 1 in 10 that radiation therapy will dull my intelligence noticeably. ([20. Consultation with radiation oncologist.])
And that is troubling.
My surgeon said we’re going to war. “You’re going to battle with some good things on your side: age, neurologic function and extent of surgery. But it’s still a big battle.”
Radiation is my weapon. The enemy is within. Yet strangely the cancer summons better angels. The war is tragic, but the struggle is noble.
I walked alone in the cool May rain among the monuments of courageous men, along the Eastern Promenade, overlooking Casco Bay. I read the tales of their heroism, their names frozen in stone and metal. For a moment, I thought I could measure their sacrifice. I cried, and the rain soaked us all.
I am becoming a memory. Strength fades. That’s true for all of us. But courage endures. Witness:
- The soldiers of the War of 1812 who died there by the bay, prisoners of the British, captured in the disastrous Battle of Queenston, Canada. Some lost even their names. Courage. ([25. Inscription at monument, Eastern Promenade near Quebec Street, Portland, Maine]) ([30. Wikipedia article “Battle of Queenston Heights“]) ([40. An Account of the Battle of Queenston Heights, October 13, 1812, from The War of 1812 Website])
- Corporal Jacob Cousins, Company C, 328th infantry, killed in Meuse-Argonne, France, October 14, 1918, in the bloody Allied offensive that won the first world war. Courage. ([45. Plaque at monument, Eastern Promenade at Cutter Street, Portland, Maine]) ([50. Wikipedia article Meuse-Argonne Offensive]) ([60. Meuse River-Argonne Forest Offensive, 26 September-11 November 1918, from Military History Encyclopedia on the Web])
- The sailors of the battle-scarred heavy cruiser U.S.S. Portland (CA-33), “Sweet Pea”, who accepted the Japanese surrender at Truk in the South Pacific, Sept. 2, 1945. Courage. ([65. Plaque at monument, Eastern Promenade at Fort Allen, Portland, Maine]) ([70. Wikipedia article USS Portland (CA-33)]) ([80. Portland, from Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships])
- Fighter pilot Major Charles J. Loring, Jr., who “elected to sacrifice his life by diving his aircraft directly into the midst of the enemy emplacements” in Korea. Courage. ([90. Plaque at monument, Eastern Promenade at North Street, Portland, Maine]) ([100. Wikipedia article Charles J. Loring, Jr.]) ([110. Printable fact sheet Maj. Charles J. Loring Jr., from National Museum of the US Air Force])
Mine is not a soldier’s courage in the face of gruesome risk. It is the courage to face a slow decline. It is the courage to embrace a truncated life. It is the courage to part the choking cloud of edema and seize the moment.
Ours is the courage, the resolve, to witness the events that carry us into history. Whether moments of great sacrifice or the sum of small decisions or simple acquiescence, our heroic deeds happen to us, as much as they are accomplished by us.
Tomorrow, we fight. May I be worthy of the chance.
Courage.
NOTES:
Bogart, that was a beautiful report.
I hope, when you look out on Casco Bay from your peninsula in Portland, that you occasionally think of the view we took of the bay from high above, on our way to the top of Mt. Washington on the clear day of Friday, November 12, 2004. We saw smoke stacks south of Portland along the coast, the interior of Casco Bay, and the Atlantic Ocean behind it.
I don’t know if we’ve ever seen it so clearly since that day, but every time we’ve gone up the mountain since, in my mind I have — to adapt your words — “parted the clouds” between the mountain and the bay, and imagined it back into vision.