Radiation 101

                BURN: To undergo combustion.

I am slowly being cremated.  Seriously….if my outside looks like it does, my insides have got to be crispy by now.  Sometimes being oblivious is bliss.  I had no clue what I was in for… all I had heard was radiation was a piece of cake compared to chemo.  Little did I know that piece of cake was not a nice piece of say Apple Annie’s hazelnut squares; more like one of those muddy, rocky ,poo filled cakes we gave to Joey Schiavone when we were 6 (relax, he didn’t eat it; came close but smelled it before he took a bite). 

Anyway, like I said, I had no clue what they were doing.  This was evident when I asked why my chest was getting red.  I got one of those  looks that had dumb ass written all over it and was told by the sour- faced- no- humor- at- all- nurse that is what was being radiated.  This happened on the Monday of week three—so the next day when I was assuming the position and my awesome tech Jamie was rearranging, I told her what had happened—she laughed her head off and showed me all the targets (the tattoos... forgot about them).  The light went on.  However, she forgot to mention the exit wounds.  So at the end of the week I said “Jamie, don’t laugh (she started snorting—must be kin to me) but why is my back red?”  Of course the first snort gave it away, but I let it go.  She snorted again when I said “oh crap, it’s an exit wound isn’t it?”  She laughed even harder when J’Nell walked in laughing HER head off as we were on speaker and Jane in the waiting room was laughing HER head off.  Glad to know I was amusing them as I was being prepared to have invisible rays shot into my body.   The urge to move my feet to the music to annoy them almost got the better of me—but the thought of having to assume the position for any longer than needed, stopped me.  Side note on the moving of the feet comment--- I have this habit of crossing my feet when I am laying down and in the beginning Peter got on my case about my feet and I called started calling him the Foot Nazi (remember I have to lay perfectly still during all this as not to let the invisible ray hit something it should not).  Week 2 I got on his case… but he got his revenge.  Music is always playing to try to help take the mind off of the invisible rays and to their credit they do ask if there is anything you simply can’t listen to and they do take special request (lately I have been following an older lady who is only calmed down by Irish dance music).  That smart butt put on Elvis and the songs were those tap your feet to the beat kind of songs… I wanted to throttle him… which I voiced loudly as I knew I was on speaker.  Again, I amused them and Jane. 

Back to the not knowing part of this--- every week they take films to make sure all is going well.  Somehow Jamie and I got to talking—this was near the end of the 3^rd week,  an exciting eye opening week to say the least—and I heard the word lung.  I had forgotten all about that.  Because of the lymph node involvement, the way the invisible rays were launched, the tip of my lung is in the line of fire.  Immediately I began to have trouble breathing.  All in my mind of course.  But to be sure I took a swing past Krispy Kreme and to my delight the light was on.  And I had to respect the light.  After two hot ones, my mind stopped playing tricks on me. 

Another thing I did not even think about was the throat area.  Never even crossed my mind. However, my throat started to get sore this past Wednesday, but it was a scratching, different type of sore—not a sick sore.  Did not think much of it as it was not annoying me too much.  But on Friday, I was clearing my throat constantly and my voice was a wee bit raspy.  I mentioned this to Jamie (who to her credit did not laugh), told me was a potential side effect, but not to worry as it was only temporary.  Whew, dodged a bullet on that one—although I am sure there are many shaking their heads just wishing I would lose the voice for a few months. 

Week five begins tomorrow (Monday) and by 5:00pm I will be in single digits. This last week is a normal week—laser beams all over.  However, Friday will mark the last of the cremation rays.  Next week, week 6, is what is referred to as the boost week.  This is when I have 5 days of concentrated rays to where the tumor lived.  And by 5:00pm on Friday, August 10, I will be done.  No more assuming the position, no more burning; I will walk out of there with my certificate hopefully never to return.   I will begin to heal and that holly tree will just have to wait.

 “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”                                               1 Thessalonians 5:18

Planning 2.0

                The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray…..

I thought I had it all figured out.  Chemo was done and over with and I was ready to get back to what I considered my normal—or rather my new normal.  True, I was looking at 30 days at the Glow Place, but still, how hard could it really be?  All I had to do was lie down and assume the radiation position and I was good to go.  Besides, I had been told by those who have traveled this path before me—radiation is a piece of cake, so I was ready.  My plan—yup—there I went with the planning again and dare I say I love having my trusty day planner back in my life—but I digress…back to my plan.  My plan was to work as many hours as I could and get to the Glow Place each day for my standing 4:30pm appointment.  Silly, silly me—I kind of forgot God was in charge and was not ready to let me go just yet.

 I had heard radiation made you tired but I thought there was no way on this earth I could ever be more tired than I had been during chemo.  And I even voiced it; more than once too.  Another lesson I apparently have not learned…never, ever say there is no way as there is always a way.  Granted it is not the sick chemo fatigue; it is a fatigue of its own.  And there is no escaping it.  I come home from radiation and all I can do is nothing.  Nothing at all—which explains the lull in blogging as well as all the other things I really planned on catching up with.  At the risk of snide comments, I can’t think when I am this tired nor can I comprehend anything.  I thought it was getting better, but it’s not.  The druggy chemo haze is gone and has been replaced with, as Pooh says, fluff.  My mind is fluff.  As in cotton; not as in marshmallow fluff. 

  Again, I am being forced to face reality; this includes not always driving myself to radiation and not working as many hours.  However, I am well enough to realize the tone of voice from a certain unnamed Assistant Library Director when I admitted I need to cut back on my hours… yes, you can hear smirking over a phone line.  Not to mention the “I knew you would give in to people driving you “uttered by another nameless person who also had that gloating tone of voice.  And to top it all off, I sit down to get my nails done and Kim says “I was told to tell you you need to slow down”.  Luckily she did not say it in the tone of voice I am sure it was said to her in.  Gee people, give me a break here… you too would like to have your normal back if you were in my shoes. 

 I just realized I have not really talked about radiation.  Really is anti climatic after all I have been through.  But it is a necessity and honestly, while the drive is a bit old, the people and the other patients are wonderful. Here is the lowdown:  I sign in and grab my bagged gown (we have a Ziploc with our name on it and we keep the same gown for a week.  Hint: always grab a purple gown, the others do not tie well and goodness knows we don’t need to see boobs hanging all over the place).  After changing you go to the little waiting room and if you are lucky there are only one or two people waiting so it goes rather quickly.  However, the radiation department at Zimmer flooded the other week and for 7 days they sent some of their people to Coastal—where I am.  While it did delay us, we did have fun in the waiting room—especially last Thursday.  There were 4 of us—all who had seen each other before, but only 2 of us really talked.  There we were, all comparing not only lingering side effects, but hair growth.  Jane’s chemo stopped in April so she has the most hair—we were all admiring it when she took her wig off—I was next and they all admired my peach fuzz… Anita thought we were nuts and would not take off her wig ( but she did tell us she sneezed the other day and the wig went flying) and Lynn—well, she said she had been worried about the wig but now just loves it as it takes her no time to get ready in the morning.  We all agreed that was a major plus.  We had so much fun that Peter came in to ask us if we wanted to just skip the treatments and order dinner in.  

Yes, I still have lingering side effects—my legs – which had not been aching, have started back up.  Walking at times can be amusing, but I am proud to say I was walking Barley (the Ashby’s dog) the other day and we made it to the corner and almost to the next corner before I told him to turn around.  It was a major accomplishment for me.  I was even tempted to ride my bike—of course that did not last long.  Maybe someday soon.  As for my hair—it’s growing and maybe by Christmas I will have the guts to wear it without the wig… Kim says October but I think she just wants to dye it pink for Breast Cancer Awareness. 

I can’t say it enough; I am so thankful for everyone around me… and especially thankful for Dr K.  I never realized that during the entire treatment he kept telling me (and Mom) that he just wanted to keep me safe