Radiation Day 1: Apparently This Is an Olympic Sport Now

Radiation Day 1: Apparently This Is an Olympic Sport Now

🌼 Date: Thursday, April 9, 2026

⚡ Energy: Determined (and slightly sore)

❤️ Status: Radiation Day 1 Complete

😐 Outlook: 16 more to go… I think

Today was Radiation Day 1.

And let me tell you something right off the bat — nobody warned me that radiation therapy would involve competitive-level breath holding and extreme yoga positions.

Even though I was told earlier this week that I wouldn’t need to redo my CT scans and measurements, every day before treatment they take an x-ray to compare everything to the original CT scan to make sure I’m lined up perfectly on the table.

Which sounds simple enough.

It is not simple.

First of all, they position me like this:

Both arms stretched up over my head holding little posts, but because one of the radiation beams is aimed at the lymph nodes in my left armpit, my left arm has to go higher than my right.

By the time we got started, my arms and shoulders were already falling asleep.

Then they couldn’t get my torso lined up quite right, so one of the nurses kept coming in and pulling on the sheet under me to shift my position.

At one point I was twisted into some kind of weird S-shaped position that was about as comfortable as it sounds. I also had to concentrate really hard to keep my feet from flopping outward, which was putting pressure on my hips.

All I could think while laying there was:

“Holy crap… they haven’t even started the radiation yet, and I have to do at least 17 of these.”

I may not survive.

Then all three nurses came in and said:

“Something isn’t working. We’re going to reset. Go ahead and sit up.”

Reset?!

We hadn’t even started yet!

Alrighty then… let’s try this again.

The second time around they realized the tattoo on the right side of my torso wasn’t lining up properly, so now they’re using a Tegaderm sticker with crosshairs to help line everything up. That sticker should stay on about a week and they’ll replace it when needed.

Thankfully the second setup went much smoother, and they were finally able to start treatment.

Now here’s where things get really interesting.

Since they are also radiating my lymph nodes, I have to lay there with my head turned completely to the right.

They tape a little monitor box on my stomach and I have to watch a tablet that shows my breathing.

When I inhale, a white line rises up on the screen. I have to take a deep breath and hold it so the white line stays inside a green box.

If that line drops below the green box?

The radiation automatically shuts off.

The reason for this breath-holding Olympic event is to push my heart and lungs as far away from the radiation beam as possible.

Which makes sense, because those are two organs I would very much like to keep functioning and uncooked.

Each radiation beam lasts about 30 seconds.

Do you know how long 30 seconds is when you’re holding your breath like your life depends on it?

It’s a really long time.

They hit me with four different beams:

• One aimed at the lymph nodes above my left clavicle (also catching part of my neck)
• One aimed at the chest wall under my left breast
• One aimed at the lymph nodes in my left armpit
• And one aimed at the chest wall from behind, coming up through the table

Between each beam I get one quick breath while the machine repositions.

So really it’s like holding your breath for about two minutes total, with a couple tiny oxygen refills sprinkled in.

All while trying not to move a single muscle.

This feels like some kind of Olympic sport I forgot to train for.

Do you think they give out medals at the end of treatment?

I would happily accept a participation ribbon at this point.

When the nurses finally came back in and released me from the table for real this time, one of them walked over with a washable marker and drew a roadmap on my chest.

Apparently the area inside the drawing is the target zone where I need to focus my lotioning efforts.

Because now I get to develop a new life skill:

Professional Lotion Application Specialist.

My new routine:

• Lotion when I wake up
• Lotion after treatment
• Lotion before bed

And if I really want to be an overachiever, I can lotion anytime my skin starts itching, burning, blistering, or peeling.

That part… I’m not really looking forward to.

You know how people joke about their life’s bingo card?

Let’s just say this cancer journey has added quite a few squares to mine that I never expected to fill.

But hey.

Radiation Day 1 is officially in the books.

💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time