Radiation
Today was my 8th radiation treatment, officially crossing the halfway point. As of tonight, I am starting to see slight skin reddening and some warmth and sensitivity similar to sunburn, so I guess they really are doing something.
The past week has been a bit of a challenge, for somewhat unexpected reasons. When I went in to get scanned originally for what is easiest to think of as radiation fitting, the position they need me to lie in was distinctly uncomfortable for my left arm -- mainly caused by these immobile armrest paddle things sort of digging into my upper arm. It was initially manageable but became increasingly painful during the course of the 45 minute scanning period, until it got to the point of almost panicky urgency to move. I left that appointment in trepidation, but the nurses assured me that the subsequent radiation treatment times would be much shorter.
I don't know what exactly is the deal with my anatomy, but this issue has persisted. It feels most like nerve pain. The radiation team was mainly perplexed -- I wasn't able to lie still enough to proceed on the first day of treatment, which was supposed to take a little longer so that they could align the equipment with my previous scan. We were successful the following day after I dosed up with painkillers, but it still felt like a near thing. Since then, I've had a few treatments that were more manageable -- I've determined that neither tylenol nor ibuprofen alone is sufficient, but the two combined seem to help -- but also a few days that were pretty excruciating. The radiation oncologist referred me to physical therapy and told me that if need be, I could start taking Valium, but that would mean needing Luke to escort me to and from each appointment, so I'm continuing on the hope that I can soldier through it.
A lot of this was happening in parallel with trying to figure out treatment for our troubled cat Izzy, who we're pretty sure has FIC (read: mystery kitty stress bladder). So it was kind of a tough week.
Aside from that struggle, radiation has been sort of interesting. The culture is extremely different from the chemo team -- it feels like assembly line medicine. They took my mug shot so that I can confirm it's me on the monitor when I come in ("We treat 70 patients a day") and the appointments are all timed to the minute. I definitely don't feel particularly cherished or supported as a person, but it makes sense that they wouldn't exactly be able to bond with the parade of bodies they're busy scooting and rolling into various positions throughout the day.
The radiation treatment itself lasts about 13 minutes, once they get me positioned. Since the tumor was on the left side, they have me hold my breath for intervals so that the air in my lungs helps move my heart out of the way. The first few intervals are for x-rays to make sure that I'm in position, and then there are about seven beams of radiation directed at different areas. Two of the seven are long duration -- 25-30 seconds each, which is just long enough to start getting anxious. There are a bunch of apparatus that revolve around the treatment table, including the big head that actually delivers the radiation, which has a sort of panel of moving metal teeth that shape each beam. In order to distract myself from pain I've been working on memorizing the sequence of beams and their respective shapes. There's "Wiggly New Mexico" (the first long one) and "Oklahoma" (a medium, 10-second beam); there are the two loggerheads (shaped like the mulling iron, not the turtle). There are the two over on the left that I can't see, and one that's just a full open square.
The radiation room has a decorative picture window ceiling of glowing blue sky and palm tree/chestnut leaf canopy. Some days they play upbeat music. A bunch of green laser lines crisscross my chest and red spotlights point down and flash at various intervals. Every day the nurses do battle with this crappy gooseneck whose job it is to hold a cell phone in front of my face so that I can see by a movable line whether I'm holding my breath correctly.
I think this blog is close to winding down -- maybe I'll send one or two more updates once radiation is over, then go quietly into the night. Now that the acute phase of treatments is coming to an end, I'm not feeling much need to talk about cancer any more, nor take solace in grousing or jokes. I'm just ready to be done with it.