Note to newbie's: If you're just joining us, feel free to stick around but you might enjoy the story better if you start at the very beginning. It reads like a book so it's fun to start with the first post and read each entry. Here's the link: Click Here for First Post
As you most likely remember from the last blog post, I was about to have a significantly challenging skin cancer treatment....
I walked into an overly hygienic room that smelled of antiseptic. There were no pictures on the wall and in the center of the room was a sole procedural chair and a massive pale looking device with a haunting apparatus at the end an articulating arm.
They gave me a pair of protective red lenses and placed a disconcerting, and rather frightening contraption of a machine, uncomfortably close to my face. With no warning and shockingly fast the machine came to life. It was a little unnerving to hear what sounded like a nuclear generator starting up in stereo inches from my skin. That electrical noise went from yawning silence within that sterile and overly white office to a deep and eire VROOOM with a heavy drone of a fan far louder than I would have liked. It was all that I could hear, like listening to static full volume through a pair of full-sized 1970's headphones. And the blue light appliance surrounded the forward half of my head. And yes, it was a bit scary. I kept my eyes closed as to avoid staring at this soulless machine that held no pity for me.
For the first 30 seconds or so I forgot that they said it would hurt. I was distracted by the ominous sound and the realization that the treatment had started. And then it snuck up on me and within the next 30 seconds or so the pain began to build. Quickly. I was startled by the speed at which this grew. It was so fast that it set my heart racing. And it didn't stop. It built and seemed to crescendo in about 2 minutes. I thought to myself, is that it? It hurt for sure but it wasn't unbearable. Then I heard a voice yell over the roar of the hateful machine. "Are you all right?" And I was. It was the technician who wisely waited outside the room with the door closed. She said that she would be back at the 5 minute mark. Then I was alone again. Just me and the monster.
I thought the pain had evened off but then it began to build and heighten. The machine seemed to increase its intensity. I nervously wondered how much more was yet to come. And in what seemed like 30 seconds, I heard that voice again, checking on me. She said, "You're doing great. I'll be back at the 10 minute mark." Had it already been 5 minutes? It seemed somewhat shorter than that. But I thought, gosh, why couldn't she just stay in there with me? I was sure that it wasn't any safer for her than for the X-ray technician that leaves you on a cold table in a dark room.
And then it hit. Quickly the burning pain began to intensify. It felt like sitting in the hot sun on a clear day at the peak of the summer, the day after getting completely fried at the beach. It seemed illogical to stay here, especially knowing that it was getting worse and more painful. Then came the needles. Not literal needles. But the sensation of millions of needles pressing into my face simultaneous. Like a face sized tattoo gun. The unyielding sting and burn continued, unrelentingly.
But I was determined. I was not going to quit. I knew that as much as it hurt me, it hurt the cancer cells more. I would survive, and the enemy would not.
The door opened, "Ok, it's been 10 minutes." At this news, I felt relief...not physical relief but I remembered the doctor saying that after about the 10 minute mark the pain would most likely not increase any more, but neither would it decrease. The expectation was that it would plateau and continue for the last seven and a half minutes.
I took joy and comfort in this. Sure it hurt but I could do it, and I had decided to do it for the full 17 1/2 minutes no matter what. And I was doing it. It was that same feeling that came across me about week two after drinking nothing but broth for half of a month.
You see it is the decision to do something, to make that unwavering commitment to see something through to the end that allows the process to be bearable. Not that the committed decision would make it easier but it eliminates potential disengagement from the process. It's about making the full-force committed pledge. A pledge to oneself. "I" am going to do this! I "am" going to do this! Commitment is what transforms
a promise into reality. It is the words that speak boldly of one's intentions.
And the actions which follow speak louder than the words spoken prior. Commitment is the stuff
character is made of; the power to change the face of things. It is the daily
triumph of integrity over skepticism. Once this level of decision is made, there is only success.
This is true of a 17 minute blue light skin cancer treatment or of drinking nothing but soup broth for a month. Decision and conviction.
The last seven minutes went by with emotional comfort. I did it. I knew that I would complete this and see it through to the end. And so with great pride, truly pride, I sat for the last 7 minutes and 30 seconds a little taller in the chair knowing I had stared this menace down. Face to face we fought and I won. But I won before I walked into the treatment room.
It's decision, conviction, and commitment that lead to success.
Make your decision. Know it. Own it. Have the internal fortitude to carry it out with conviction. Keep your commitment. Know pride. Know success.
