I had great techs. I try to stop in and say hello everytime I go back for follow-ups. Funny thing is I still get nauseated everytime go down to the machine....

The techs let me bring my own CDs to play during the daily treatments. I always tried to bring something different. It helped, but not much. And it certainly didn't help to have them talk about how when they were little, their dad used to listen to my music selections. In any case, I would plug the CD in and start it, take my shoes and shirt off as they required. I would climb up on the table and they would hand me my stint. I hated the stint -- almost as much as the mask. I would sit there on the table with my stint in hand trying to calm myself, taking slow deep breaths. Then I would put the stint in my mouth and wait to get one good swallow in. I had to prove to myself each time that I could still swallow with the stint proping my mouth open. Only then would I lay down and let them strap my hands and put the mask on. The panic signal was to raise my knees as they were watching me on video. I would lay there and count the stops the machine would make as it radiated each field -- there were ten of them. During the first four weeks of treatment, I was on the verge of raising my knees during any given moment. Although during the last couple of weeks, I finally got a little hardened to the experience. Probably the one thought more than any other that kept me from raising my knees was; even if they stopped the treatment and let me out of the mask, I was still going to have go back under the mask and finish the treatment. There was no escaping it unless I wanted to quit and let the disease win, which was not an option.

...which don't believe is an option for you either, Sabrina. You're almost done. Even if you freek out every day of treatment you have left, you're almost done! Then you'll ring the bell and be on the other side of it. Hang in there...

-Brett