Musings from the Radiation Chapter

I have now completed four sessions of my new full time job - the 2013 radiation project. In case some of you aren´t familiar with the whole radiation dealio (or rads if you are more intimately acquainted with it), I can fill you in.

So radiation is meant to be the final clean up act following chemo and should kill off the cancer cells that were weakened by chemo. That is definitely my preferred game plan and I try to channel it by whispering during every rads session, "Die cells, die!" God I hope they are listening. The thing about rads is that the actual process of lying down on a very uncomfortable table resembling a spinal board and having this radiactive beam shot at you is completely painless. I still half expect to feel some kind of pain when the huge ass machine starts wizzing around me and I can almost visualise this bright yellow beam reaching into my chest wall seeking out the enemy. But of course radiation is invisible. The process for me is 25 sessions every day with the exception of weekends. So you see - it really is like a full time job and equally as exhausting. One of the main side effects of rads is fatigue so naps become daily protocol. I found myself feeling quite anxious about it all when I showed up on Monday for round 1 as I felt kinda in the dark about the whole thing. The last time i did this, I felt prepared and my network had informed me of what to expect, how to treat side effects and what would happen longer term. But this round 2 (similar to my chemo regime) was uncharted territory as my doctor said. They genuinely couldn´t really tell me what would happen and we would have to deal with things as they came. The radiation tech gave me a mini anxiety attack by telling me that we would need to see how things go and if I started to develop open sores we would have to consider stopping. Awesome! Welcome to leprosy island folks. There is so much worry in this game and I hate not knowing what will happen and pondering all the possible scenarios. And you know what? There is this screen on the ceiling in the rads room that lights up when the machine is on and goes dark when it´s off. The scene on the screen is straight out of the rainforest filled with lush greenery. I am guessing this tranquil scene is meant to distract and relax you however I could not help but notice that a number of leaves had burn marks on them. It made me think of my own skin sizzling under the radiation beams and definitely didn´t leave me feeling at peace. Now it is all i can focus when I am lying there every single day...burning. Oh the places our minds go.

So as I continue to get the job done, my mind is already focusing on the future and what will happen next. The plan is to finish the radiation, wait three months and do another PET. That scan feels so ominous to me and holds so much hope and fear tangled all together. I want to believe it will be okay and that I will be free from this monster but I find it so hard to think that way when everything has gone so terribly wrong. In the last two and half years every time we have been given two possible outcomes, we always have ended up with the worst one. When will our luck change? I seriously need about a million four leaf clovers, a thousand horse shoes and a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. Do you think they deliver? :) It just all feels so final right now - we have done everything we can again and now we have to wait and see what happens. There is so much helplessness in the situation and so much fear. I am so damn scared of that monster under the bed. That it wont disapear when I turn on the lights again.

OBB

Catching a Break

Ok so I had to write an entry after discovering some frankly amaze-balls information following my last entry. For some odd reason (or perhaps I just assumed and one should never assume anything in the world of cancer) that my chemo would make me bald. I mean that is what happens generally and I have experienced it first hand so why would it be any different now? Alas I am so happy to be wrong. This is one of the few chemos that most likely wont make you lose all your hair. It is not a standard breast cancer chemo drug and most of those make you into a cue ball hence my assumption. About 1 out of every 1000 people who have this drug will lose everything but most lose some and it usually doesnt warrant wig wearing. I cannot describe the relief upon hearing this news. Suddenly I could still be me. Even though chemo will make me feel so super crap there is so much comfort in the fact I wont need to shed a layer of myself. To everyone else, especially in the eyes of my daughter, I will look the same, just alittle more battle worn. This was literally the best news I had heard in months if not years. Now my hard earned pony tail would not have to be cut!

I went back to work yesterday and it was surprisingly good for me. My brain is definitely stuffed with cotton wool but being back in a non cancer environment is refreshing. Everyone was so happy to see me but it was slightly tiring responding to the question "So are you healthy now" 30 or 40 times. How do I answer that exactly? I really dont know. I know I need treatment to give me the best chance at being healthy but beyond that I just don´t know. By the end of the day, I was exhausted with a headache and kind of over relieving it all so many times. I have decided to try and work as much as I can manage through my treatment because I think it will keep me clear, sharper and less insane. Gettting a break from being the cancer patient will be good for me. Last time I had treatment, I learnt Norwegian so why not use this time to do something productive again.

We also got the PET scan date which is next Wednesday. This is my third in 8 months so I am a total veteran of the positive emitron transmission scan. No physical activity 48 hours prior so i will be chilling out next week. And then my husband booked our holiday! Woohoo!! I am so excited. Next Friday we will get on a plane and head to the sun to do what normal families do. Spend some time together in the sun just having fun. We will go without knowing the results of the scan and I am okay with that. After everything we have gone through, all the waiting and all the stress, it just doesnt seem like that much more to bear. I can´t change anything that has happened or that is in process, I can just remain hopeful that things wont get worse. For those seven days, I will enjoy my last few moments of freedom. And when I return from this trip, it will be time to get the show on the road. I have decided to get a central port put in to have all my chemo administered through. My veins are total nightmares from all the previous abuse so this will spare me the needle anxiety and missed attempts but I of course need to get the bugger put in. More on that procedure later when I find out more about it. Isn´t cancer fun?

For now it is a time to rest...the war has not yet begun.

Hugs,

OBB