One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain. — Bob Marley
For 28 days I went in for radiation treatment, and each day I was allowed to choose the music that played while I was on the table. It was a small choice in a process where most things had already been decided for me. I didn’t choose these pieces because they were comforting or inspirational, although some were. I chose music I wanted to be with for those few minutes—music that carried memories, demanded attention, brought me joy, or simply sounded right in that strange room with that machine moving around me. This is the music I brought with me.
But I wasn’t alone with the music. Every day there were the wonderful radiation technicians who greeted me, got me positioned, ran the machinery, and somehow made a very strange thing begin to feel almost ordinary. I came to think of them as friends and actually looked forward to seeing them. There was humor, smiles, conversation, and there was a warmth that had nothing to do with the technology surrounding us. I can’t remember another time when I felt so well cared for by people I had only just met. Of all the things they said to me, the one I may remember longest is, “Would you like a warm blanket?” Such a small kindness, but it came to stand for the whole experience: someone was paying attention to whether I was comfortable.
So I am posting these pieces as an example of what we bring with us when we have to go through something we would never have chosen. I brought music, but I also brought my life contained in songs I had listened to for decades, all those ordinary days that had somehow accumulated into a life. And then something unexpected happened: the people caring for me became part of what I brought into that room. Their kindness and good humor became part of the soundtrack.
Cancer was now part of my life, but it wasn’t the whole story. And I don’t know if I’ll ever again have the experience of such wonderful women cheerfully telling me to pull down my pants.