January 7: I’m done!

From late November, I can't take a new picture until my wrist is out of the cast.

The "artwork" from my tumor-area-only treatments

I finished my radiation treatments the week after Thanksgiving, something like December 2. I had a bit of a sunburn, and I got a little tired. It would hit me about three in the afternoon; suddenly I wanted to nap. In the evenings I fell asleep on the sofa around 8 or 9 PM.

For the most part, I forgot about the treatments. My reminder went off at 11:30 and at 11:45 I was on my way, coat on, rushing over to the hospital. By 11:55 I’d be out of my clothes and into the gown. They called me in, I got zapped a few times, grabbed lunch on the return trip and usually made it back to my desk by 12:30, prepping for my next meeting.

The last eight treatments zeroed in on the location where the tumor had been. By then I was a bit red and glad I was almost done. For these sessions, the Linnac (a.k.a. espresso-machine-on-steroids) was fitted with a plate shaped like the tumor area. The radiation tech explained that the machine sent a different type of particle for these treatments and the little buggers liked to go off in all directions. The plate forced them to “straighten up and fly right.”

My “all-inclusive package” offered more body art — albeit temporary this time. To make sure they pointed the machine at the correct spot, the techs created a template from which they drew the shape of my tumor area on my chest each day. I had to chuckle the first time I saw the plastic guide. To center it correctly, one of the techs drew in the scar from my lumpectomy. His rendition of my scar brought to mind visions of Frankenstein.

The day after my last radiation treatment, I started tamoxifen. The first couple of weeks I was a little nervous because the drug can, in rare cases, cause blood clots to form. Every little ache or pain in my legs gave me pause and a voice in my head screamed “There she blows!” But so far so good.

The “features” of the tamoxifen that impact me most are increased night sweats and an occasional hot flash. Normally I spend my winters shivering under electric blankets, extra socks and flannel everything. It’s a bit jarring to wake up with hot feet, a soggy scalp and a back that feels like a furnace — too bad I can’t control these new-found powers for the good of mankind. Instead, five minutes later I’m clammy and cold.

My rheumatoid arthritis damaged my right wrist, so I finally underwent joint replacement surgery in late December. For the last three weeks my right arm has been encased in a cast-like brace. Getting through the day has been interesting, to say the least. Bedtime is a real adventure — wearing flannel pajamas and trying to turn between flannel sheets with one arm in a cast.

I mention this because, for the first time, I’m thankful I don’t have hair! I can’t imagine the struggle of washing, drying and styling a full head of hair with my right hand out of commission — Don King and Phyllis Diller would be envious. For the next few weeks I’m content with my Susan-Powter-gone-pewter look.

I didn’t have the meltdown the counselors warned me about, but cancer changed me. As I wrote in my Christmas letter, I’ve had to confront my own mortality. I take notice when I hear of a cancer death — especially when the situation is like Elizabeth Edwards, a woman who was diagnosed with stage II in 2002 and died from it in 2010. But life goes on for the survivors and we move forward.

In February I have my six-month follow-ups — a mammogram and an MRI. I’m sure hoping everything looks good and I won’t have to undergo any ultrasounds or biopsies.

From my lips to God’s ear.

November 9: 18 down, 15 to go!

Still pretty sparse

Pink in some areas

Friday I went over the mid-mark, more than half done! My skin is getting a little pink in the armpit area, but otherwise it looks good; no fatigue. I dash to the hospital over the lunch hour, get zapped and return to work. I have to say this is pretty convenient.

I run over and begin undressing when I get into the elevator – outerwear, phone, etc. come off. I scurry into the changing room where I whip off my wig, sweater and bra and throw on a gown, then sit in the waiting area until I’m called. The techs then escort me into the room where I lay on a platform and they align me with the light beam from the ceiling and two from the walls. Each day they mark near the tattoos, so I’ve learned to wear only black bras to avoid purple blotches on the insides. For efficiency’s sake, I’ve also stopped wearing necklaces and large earrings.

The machine is intriguing. The spot that shoots out the radiation has the capability of changing shape — sort of like a two dimensional version of a pin sculpture. Sometimes during radiation they place a metal sheet over the window on the machine. From what I understand, this enables them to “curve the beam.”

It may seem strange to say, but my daily radiation treatments bring a little humanity into my routine. For a few moments I’m in the presence of individuals who care for the sick. Their entire day revolves around patients – touching, assuring, healing. Afterward I return to the world of computers, applications and deadlines.

Oct 15: Day two of treatment – still not glowing

 

Part of the outline of the area that is radiated

 

My routine is to leave work at 11:45 so I can be changed and ready for treatment by noon. On Friday we were right on time. During one of the treatments they need to validate the amount of radiation hitting my body, and they needed to mark an outline on my chest of the area being exposed to radiation and take a picture of it. I had the time to do it on Friday.

For the radiation check they taped a piece of plastic to my chest — I assumed it was a special plastic, not a recycled chunk of a Pick’ N Save bag.  😉 Once the “oversized espresso maker” rotated down and I was lined up — in the exact same position again – one of the techs drew an outline on my chest with a marker. The machine buzzed and we did the routine again, this time the machine on the other side of me. Then they took the picture and I was done.

As I changed, I was surprised at the expanse of skin that gets radiated– they don’t play around. The area starts just under my breast and goes halfway up my chest. Horizontally it starts at my sternum and goes around to my back.

I haven’t experienced any sunburn and no fatigue at this point – which I wouldn’t expect after just two treatments anyway.

Two down, 31 to go!

Oct. 14: Here we go!

On Thursday I finally had my first radiation treatment. Once again, like an ant returning to the colony, I scurried over to the hospital and all the way through it to get to the elevator that took me down into the bowels of the building.

I immediately changed into a gown and robe and sat in the treatment waiting area. Impressed by the speed the day before, I bravely set up a meeting for 12:45, confident I could make it back to the office by then.

When, oh, when will I learn? I should know by now that if I don’t give myself enough time, we will run late — Murphy has written that law just for me. I started to get nervous so I went back into the changing area and grabbed my phone to find out the time: 12:07. Blood pressure went up 10 points. A minute later, blood pressure up another 10 points.

Sometimes I forget how good I have it: from the treatment room they wheeled out an older woman, hooked up to an IV, covered in a blanket. They got me in and out of there in five minutes.

The techs reminded me that I needed to meet with the nurse and I told them it had to be fast. We ran into her in the hall and she whisked me into an exam room where she speed read the instructions and handed me the lotion I was to apply to my chest twice a day. The treatments would take a little longer on Tuesdays, as that is when I meet with the radiation oncologist.

I changed at breakneck speed and headed back to work. By the time I got there, my head was sweating beneath the wig, but I made it.

October 13: Radiation dress rehearsal

I meandered through the hospital and found the elevator that took me to the basement where the radiation department resides. I was instructed I didn’t need to stop at the front desk, I could go directly to the waiting area for treatments. The hospital has multiple machines, but it seems you go to the same one at the same time every day, Monday through Friday.

I sat down and opened a magazine, and within a few minutes one of the techs found me and instructed me to change into a gown and sit in the area for machine one. I entered the women’s changing area and grabbed a gown and a robe. On planning day I did the same, taking off my shirt and bra, but I left on my wig. When I got into the simulator area for planning, I decided to remove my wig because I didn’t know how long it would take, and wigs don’t like body heat.

On dress rehearsal day, I decided to scrap the wig, storing it in the locker with the rest of my things. I barely sat down in the waiting room before I was whisked into the treatment area. The room is large, with a machine that sort of looks like a life-sized espresso maker sitting in the middle. A platform is situated where the coffee cup would sit.

I laid on the platform and they had me position myself exactly as I did during the planning session — my arms over my head, holding the bar with my hands in the same position. There were four techs swarming around me, a couple of them pulling on the sheet beneath me to get me in the position needed. The ceiling has a large light fixture that looks like stained glass with various types of leaves. Above me was a cut-out area from which shown a red light. This light is what they lined me up to, the three tattoos aligned with the points of light, I assume. The espresso maker rotated down so the top, which looks like a crown, was situated at my side. The techs came in and out, the espresso maker making a buzzing sound when they left the room.

The crown  rotated to the other side of my body, another buzzing sound and I was done. It took about 15 minutes. Not bad.

My radiation oncologist’s nurse was to meet with me afterword to talk about treating the area that was being radiated. She was running late so we would do it the next day.

I threw my clothes on and headed back to the office.