These pictures prove that I finally did get permission to enter the radiation treatment room. I was allowed in while Corinne was being prepared for a session, but (with everyone else except Corinne) I had to leave before the dangerous rays started shooting. She would ask them, “If this is so safe, why won’t one of you stay here and hold my hand?” They just smiled. And left.

With the exception of surgery, I have never been separated from Corinne for so long during her cancer treatments. And the surgeries have been one-time events. With days off for snow, radiation treatments took over four weeks for us and, between the time Corinne disappears into the dressing room and when she returns, it’s usually 30-45 minutes. Day after day, I waited in the lobby. I read a book. I kept up to date on New Yorker cartoons. I read another book. I visited our old friends in other departments: chemo nurses, lab techs, shot nurses, doctors’ secretaries and assistants. I made a new friend in the billing department whose desk was across from my favorite place to sit. I gathered clinic insider information (and gossip) that might help us more easily navigate the system in the future.

I got to know the husband of a woman who has radiation each day at the same time as Corinne. We talked about our wives’ cancers. And their treatment regimens. And their side effects. And our families’ histories with cancer. But we never talked about our own challenges or problems as Caregivers. I have some reason to believe that it is common for Caregivers to ignore our own issues as we focus so completely on this life-or-death battle of our loved-ones.