Radiation treatment is often a solitary experience, but for one woman, it became a journey shared with friends. On her fourth radiation session, she sat across from Rob, her friend Rachel’s husband, who had volunteered to be her driver for the day. This act of kindness was part of a larger support system orchestrated by Rachel, who had rallied a group of friends to ensure she never had to face her treatments alone.
The Maine Med radiation oncology department, located on the basement level of the medical center, was a place of both discomfort and resilience. The cold air on her bare arms was a constant reminder of the treatment’s physical toll, but it also served as a testament to her presence and strength. Each session began with a ritual: a photo in the dressing room, a smile captured despite the circumstances, sent to her husband Dan and friend Rachel as a silent affirmation of her journey.
The Birth of the Radiation Buddy System
Two weeks before her fourth session, Rachel had come up with the idea of a radiation buddy system. After her final pre-treatment CT scan, the weight of the journey ahead had felt overwhelming. The existential aloneness of cancer is a heavy burden, but Rachel’s quick response—I’ll figure this out—had turned that burden into a shared load. Within days, Rachel had organized a schedule of drivers, recruiting four female friends and three of their husbands to ensure she had support every step of the way.
Each driver brought something unique to the experience. Nora, for instance, would come into the exam room and ask questions, her presence a comforting distraction. Leah’s days often started with a shared breakfast at her house, a simple Dutch baby with raspberries becoming a cherished ritual. Emma’s empathy was palpable, especially on the day they saw a young boy, the same age as her younger son, arriving for treatment. Merry, with her bouquets of flowers from her garden, added a touch of beauty to the otherwise clinical environment.
More Than Just a Ride
The doctors had assured her that driving herself would be easy—just a 20-minute trip. But the reality was far more complex. It wasn’t just the physical act of driving; it was the emotional weight of the journey. The support from her friends made all the difference. Whether it was Rob discussing John Cheever’s stories or Merry’s flowers, each small gesture became a part of her healing process.
On her last day of radiation in mid-July, her husband Dan brought doughnuts for the radiation team at Maine Med. The celebration was a poignant moment, marked by the ringing of a cowbell to announce the end of her treatment. At home, her older son greeted her with a Lazy Daisy cake, a sweet reminder of the love that surrounded her.
Almost a year later, the physical pain of the treatment has faded, but the memories remain vivid. The swelling, the bleeding, the instructions to hold her breath—these details are etched in her mind. Yet, what stands out are the moments of connection: Jess’s leg against hers on the waiting-room sofa, the relief of seeing a familiar face after each session. These moments of support and love have left a lasting impression, a deep sense of worthiness that transcends the physical journey.
In the end, the radiation treatment was not just a medical procedure; it was a journey of love and support. The friends who volunteered their time and care became an integral part of her healing, proving that love can take many forms—flowers, cakes, spreadsheet schedules, and the simple act of holding a paperback, ready to talk about it all the way home.
