I.amN.otD.eadY.et children so listen up!

“What ya going to write about now?” My daughter asked after I posted the “Ring My Bell” video and wrote about that final day at the Bismarck Cancer Center in April.

Well, my dear, radiation was not the end of my torrid tale of 2023. It was only the beginning. Besides, words circulate in my head like a song that never ends. It seems words never run out. All I need do is touch the keyboard, and there it is, yet another deep thought from the mind of Sue B.

Those two weeks after my 30 days of radiating — and I don’t mean glowing like the sun — were awful.

I didn’t have to get up every day and get motivated to drive to Bismarck at 7:30 a.m. Maybe it was the lack of something I had to do that made getting up off the couch more difficult than ever before. I was stuck under my Grogu blanket, attempting to eat, drink or talk.

By the end of the week in a black hole, I called the cancer center. It was Jill from Cottonwood who answered the phone. We have mutual friends, and she has been a part of fundraisers we held at the church for the God’s Child Project. I recognized her voice.

Having no strength for chit-chat, I got right to the point.
“How miserable does a person have to be before you put them out of their misery?” I asked.

Jill started laughing. “Wait, a minute while I put the phone down. Hey, I got this person on the line who wants to know how miserable she has to be before we put her out of her misery.”

There was no answer to that question. Never expecting a remedy, I thought at least I tried. Jill explained that no matter what the nurses said about those two weeks after the bell ringing, it never soaked in. The effects of radiation always got worse before improving, and there was nothing they could do.

I learned that radiation has no immediate effect. It could take days, weeks or even months to do its job. Cancer cells keep dying long after the end of the treatment.

While that was true about the cancer cells, there were other lasting effects. Before I walked out of Dr. Reynold’s office that last day, he looked at my throat and said, “I see your skin is burned.”

A burn, you mean fried. Holy cow was that an understatement. The few people from Sunday’s cake celebration saw the burn., much too ugly looking to post a photo. It wasn’t as bad that day at the doctor’s office, as it was after treatment ended.

I couldn’t wear anything with a crew neck and for sure none of my favorite turtlenecks. The radiation had sunburned an area of entry under my right ear.

The top layer of skin began to peel as the nurse said it would. It was painful, and anything that rubbed against it rubbed off the skin. From this side effect, a new nightly ritual was born.

At about 9 p.m., when “Hogan’s Heroes” reruns aired on ME TV, it was time to get ready for bed. I cut the neck out of some old tee shirts for sleeping, put on my robe, took some wonderful cough syrup that had something in it making sleep come easy (I believe it was a narcotic), grabbed my Aquaphor and some Kleenex and off to the couch.

I am not trying to gross anyone out, but JC would dab the ooze and leftover lotion off the open wound and then carefully apply Aquaphor over the area. It felt good and bad at the same time.

To prevent any more skin issues, JC would rub lotion over the exit area on my back.

As corny as those old “Hogan’s Heroes” episodes were, we would sit back and watch until the cough medicine worked its magic, and I became too drowsy to watch whatever program aired next.

It was a tender and intimate ritual that lasted at least two weeks following the end of radiation treatment.