Yesterday I had my hair done in the salon. A much nicer activity than the same day a year ago, when I was having this mask made for my forthcoming radiotherapy.
It was a long day. The mask-moulding took 30 minutes, as the plastic hardened to my face, creating a mask that fitted me perfectly and would hold me in place for each of my 30 radiotherapy sessions. The rest of the day was spent going through side effects and signing consent forms before treatment began.
Every day of radiotherapy, Michael, as I liked to call him, was waiting for me.
Once my cami top straps were down and I was on the radiotherapy bed, the radiographers asked if I was ready. Then Michael was placed on to my face and clicked into place – that’s what the black clips you can see were for.
I learned to meditate out of the room for the seven long minutes I was on the bed – every day, for six weeks. As the treatment continued, the side effects became worse. The cumulative effects became more apparent.
At the end of the treatment I chose to bring Michael home, as a reminder of what I went through and why. đź’– It saved my life.