How Radiation Helped Me Use My Voice.
I had pictured the end of my treatments to be less taxing and go smoother than the trauma of surgery and the challenge of chemo. But that was not to be. Thankfully, I thought, radiation sessions will not take 4 1/2 hours like surgery or drag on for 5 hours like each chemo infusion. Instead, radiation would take only eight minutes. Eight minutes sounded like a cake-walk but I found out fast each minute could feel like an eternity.
For the past five months all of my caregivers had been women. Both surgery and chemo departments felt quiet, supportive, almost comforting. The radiation department, however, had more men and their energy was very different. Maybe because they don’t have a uterus or maybe the physics demands all their attention. Whatever the reason, to me, the environment felt distant and remote. The communication was abrupt. For example, no one noticed my inner panic as they described how a cylinder would be placed inside of me (by the doctor) just before everyone else went into a separate room.
I was immediately reminded of giving birth (50 years ago) at a time when all the ob-gyn doctors were men. Whenever they’d describe how I would (or should) feel I could hear a voice inside my head go, “Objection, hearsay! These guys are never gonna know how this feels.” Imagine my anxiety ramping up when a young male technician, sporting way too much testosterone, introduced himself in a booming voice. It was jarring.
He made small talk as I straddled a contraption on the table, designed to keep me motionless during the “simulation.” The more he talked the more trapped I felt. The doctor was a consummate professional while the female technician tried to help. However, neither said anything to this guy. In the old days it was the kind of moment where females might question their own feelings. After all, “boys will be boys.”
But the following week, as I walked into the treatment room dressed in a hospital gown and very anxious, the same technician yelled in from the hallway, “Hey, Patricia, remember me?” Truly, a “wtf” moment. That was it, I had had enough. I needed to focus and this guy was demanding my attention. This happened as I was simultaneously being introduced to two new people, a female technician and a male physicist. (both kind, empathetic and very aware)
After thinking about it over the weekend, and talking to my friends, I called the nurse navigator. I told her I felt very uncomfortable and since I had two more treatments to go through I wanted a change. In short, I wanted him gone. Under the circumstances his immaturity was too much for me. Maybe I was healing my younger self, intimidated by the all-male arena. Back then there was no recourse. Today, however, there are more options and, I’m older and wiser.
Melinda Gates, in her fabulous book “The Moment of Lift,” teaches us that when women are empowered to use their voice, the world changes and everyone benefits. (And, in my opinion, feeling empowered is only possible when one feels worthy). When I was first diagnosed I set out to help my body help itself. But what I found out was all the inner work I had previously been doing was now being called to task. Until this situation, I didn’t even know I wasn’t using my own voice to speak up. I was programmed to not “rock the boat.” I now had an opportunity to use a different perspective and, for that, I am grateful.
As I left the department, after my last treatment, I told my favorite nurse about the call I had made. She looked at me as if she’d never had a patient take charge before and said, “I’m so glad you’re being pro-active. I really enjoyed working with you.” Then despite our masks, and the covid protocols, she gave me a hug.
We never know who else we may be helping by speaking up for ourselves. It was the least I could do for me and for any other woman who might follow. For now, I want to thank all of you for your love and support. It’s time to focus on my well-being and celebrate the fact that I’m officially cancer free - yippee!
- Pat McGrath