Well Played, Austin Cancer Center

Six days into radiation.  I have the routine down.  No one suggested any additional songs for my radiation play list, so I just have the handful.  I really only get through a couple of songs each time, so 7-8 songs may be sufficient.  Weirdly, the machine that goes "Zap!" may be interacting with my phone.  Even though I have the playlist on shuffle, it keeps reverting to "Radioactive."  Whatever the machine wants.

I switched to morning sessions today, with the optimistic hope that I can irradiate, then jump straight into my CEO job.  Jill made the excellent point that if I get to the point where I need a mid-morning nap, likely I should work more from home.  Don't want to 1) model napping as an acceptable work behavior (that was so mid aughts), or 2) frighten employees. 
"Is he dead?" 
"No, radiation doesn't kill you." 

We walked into the Austin Cancer Center as they opened at 8:30.  They also play music.  We were greeted by "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor.  I pointed this out to the receptionist and asked if they had a special gonna-beat-cancer playlist.  She told me that it was just a 70's, 80's and 90's Spotify mix.  Jill and I suggested that they keep the song on a loop, but then admitted that being forced to hear that more than say, twice, would likely lead to a terrible, terrible day.  They called me back to the "Zap!" machine just as the second song was starting.  It was (and I swear this is true) "Stayin' Alive."  Who knew there were so many cancer fighting disco songs?

Once a week I meet with the radiation oncologist and his Extender.  Today, the doctor let me know that hair loss is likely eminent.  I had thought my hair had been fighting the good fight and clinging on for dear literal life onto my head.  He praised my fighting hair, but let me know that their brave fight would be lost soon.  Jill had been spinning the potential hair loss as minor and not noticeable.  Dr. Radiation Oncologist said, in true doctor fashion, it's hard to know the extent, but to expect wide swaths.  My lovely wife winced.  I was briefly worried that she was picturing me side-bald, but she was worried that she had undersold the hair loss to me.

Losing hair has been a detached, theoretical possibility.  I joke about it, but I actually don't worry that much about it.  Honestly, all of the side effects don't seem like a big deal until they are.  I found myself on the couch Monday after radiation, wanting to get up, probably able to get up, but without sufficient momentum or motivation to get up.  I eventually got up.  Made pickles.  Then went back to work.  Pickle-making was not listed anywhere as a potential side effect, but combining working at home with a crap ton of cucumbers in the garden, and there you go. 

So, my near future includes more time in what I am calling "power save mode"; more pickle-making (go to irradiated_pickles.com for pricing and flavor options), and more hair loss.

Even if I am not completely emotionally prepared for the hair loss, I am physically prepared.  I have a bunch of hats.  And a lovely new standing hat rack that scares the living crap of Jill and the twins at least 2-3 times a day.  Who would have imagined that a six-foot, multi-armed hat rack wearing a fedora might be disconcerting in the middle of the night in semi-darkness?  OK, I'll give you that one.