One week down, four to go.
The hardest part about radiation therapy is getting there - the drive to Macedonia takes about 45 minutes, but can be longer if there are delays at the border. So far I haven't had any issues crossing either way - but I credit that to being American and female. The guards frequently want to chat about America and their experiences. This was my favorite this week...
I hand the border officer my passport. He looks at me.
Guard: "You like Biden."
Me: "What?"
Guard: "You like Biden, I can tell. You know why? You're wearing a mask. Everyone that wears a mask likes Biden. No mask? Trump."
Me: <laughing>
Guard: "See? It's true. I know America." <hands me back my passport>
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Spending a week with the radiology techs, we're getting to know each other a bit - I figured anyone that spends THAT MUCH TIME touching my breasts, should at least be friends.
Both are Macedonian, both are young enough to be my kid, both would be considered "model hot" but someone a generation younger than I. To me, they are just "the boys" and very sweet.
The hospital in Macedonia is a remarkable difference from the public hospital in Pristina that I visited for my bone density scan. It's clean, efficient, and they have good protective precautions in place and enforce them (mostly). It FEELS like a hospital. And yes, you pay more for that - I was a little shocked at being charged for the whole five week treatment on day one - but it's worth it to feel safer, even though with Coronavirus that can be more illusion than fact.
The base is still on lockdown - so the fact that I can drive back and forth (and get across the border, since Macedonia and Kosovo are not playing nice with each other in terms of border crossing due to each of their virus numbers) is a miracle. There's always a possibility that they'll close the border for medical treatments and I'll have to stay in a hotel in Macedonia, but that hasn't happened yet.
One nice thing - I've developed a fondness for Albanian music. So I get to spend about two hours in the car each day just rocking out to songs I can't sing a word of - and it's a good great from the routine. I know I'm lucky to be off post. I know I'm lucky to be getting great care at the hospital. There's still a deeply rooted fear that the cancer will return - probably right when I've grown my hair back out - but there's no guarantee for any of us that tomorrow will come. So I push those thoughts back down to the pit and try and focus on enjoying the day and the beautiful things I have in my life - even in the midst of all this madness.
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