I’ve always been adventurous, eager to try new things and go new places. When I was younger, outer space fascinated me, and I wanted to be an astronomer. When I grew up, I became a nurse and a freelance writer and continued to pursue adventure. Recently, however, that spirit was put to the test when my doctor shared the results of my yearly MRI.

Five years ago, my neurologist discovered a meningioma, a benign tumor, tucked neatly in the back of my brain between the cerebellum and a major vessel that travels through the brain. Rather than risk a complicated surgery to remove it, he adopted a wait-and-see approach. Since then it had grown to three centimeters, and my neurosurgeon wanted it out or minimized. “It’s been growing for five years. It’s ripe,” he told me. I retorted that he was making me sound like a grape.

Grape or not, the tumor needed attention. My neurosurgeon recommended robotic radiosurgery, a procedure that targets and destroys tumors once considered inaccessible. After my doctor confirmed the procedure, I was referred to a radiation oncologist. As I listened to the pre-surgery protocol, I felt like I was preparing to launch into space. Would I be beamed up or glow in the dark?

As I lay on the table for the CT scan, a technician put a warm, white fishnet over my face and shaped it to fit exactly. The mold would harden and be placed over my head and snapped to the table to keep my head from moving during the procedure.

The radiology machine, a one-eyed robot, would deliver radiation to the tumor with an accuracy of sub-millimeters. This decreased the risk of harming any healthy tissue and reduced the likelihood of long-term effects. The treatments would be 30 minutes a day, for three days, and I’d have to take a steroid each day to keep my brain from swelling.

On the first day of treatment, my blood pressure was 162/100, reflecting my rattled nerves. As much as space travel appeals to me, I was apprehensive about going into unknown territory with a big white machine circling me. As technicians placed the mask over my head and strapped my arms to my side to keep me still, I joked to hide the nervousness. “This reminds me of a time someone put a strait jacket on me!”

Soft music played in the background. The ceiling above displayed a beautiful photo of a rocky beach. These were meant to keep me calm. I found myself rehearsing every scripture I had memorized as well. The gentle ticking and whirring began. I looked at the wall to the side of me. Red letters that stated, “Beam on” lit up. I closed my eyes. After a while, I opened them, only to find the one-eyed monster staring directly into my face. As the robot whirred, it moved all around me.

As promised, the procedure was over in 30 minutes. My mask was put away for the next two treatments. They agreed I could take it home when I finished the visits. I joked that I might use it for Halloween. I was ushered into an exam room where the nurse checked my blood pressure and administered the steroid. When I went home, I had a dull headache that persisted all day until I gave in and took some Tylenol.

Over the next two treatments, my headache didn’t return, but I had trouble sleeping. The steroid made me feel as if I had drunk too much coffee.  I was shaky and irritable. On the fourth day, my energy levels bottomed out, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I felt no pain and, thankfully, had no side effects.

My hair hasn’t fallen out, and I can pass all the neurologic checks. I can walk a straight line and touch my finger to my nose with my eyes closed. In three months, I’ll have another MRI to see if the radiation shrank the tumor.

It amazes me what medical technology can do. I think of my experience as a good rehearsal for my next adventure into the unknown. Perhaps I’ll go to the moon!

Frances Hansen lives in Auburn, NY. A retired registered nurse, she loves to write, sew, and create stained glass. She enjoys visiting her three grown children and nine grandchildren.