Am I Glowing Yet?
No, I am not glowing, but I am decorated with beautiful purple magic marker art all across the right side of my chest from my clavicle down to my ribs and under my arm. (How did they know purple was my favorite color?) I have solid lines, polka dots, and dotted lines. While I was getting dressed at home one day, Clay walked in and saw the canvas that my chest has become. His eyes got wide, and he said, “Mom, has Lance been drawing all over you?!” No, but it sure does look like it. As a result, I have been limited to wearing turtlenecks these past few weeks. Thank goodness it is winter. In the summer I guess you just have to go around looking like your three year old went to town with the magic markers.
And, while I am not glowing, after two weeks of being zapped almost daily, the radiated area has started looking sunburned, and it feels kind of sensitive. I have also developed a rash below my collar bone that is quite itchy at times. I was told initially to use only vitamin e cream, and the radiation techs also gave me some aloe vera gel to help alleviate the irritation. If this is as bad as it gets, I can’t complain. I see a doctor once a week, and during my last visit, the doctor told me that my skin looks better at this point than it does on most patients. I always find this type of information encouraging. I guess it’s nice to be “above average” even in radiation treatments. .
When I first began the radiation treatments, they gave me a pale blue card with a bar code and my picture on the outside. On the inside is a grid with lots of boxes. This card has three purposes. When I first get to the office, I wave it in front of a scanner at the reception desk, and it lets the techs in the back know I have arrived. (I guess my strong, bubbly personality isn’t enough to announce my presence, so this technology is necessary.)
Second, the picture ensures that I don’t send an imposter in my place to take my treatments for me. Seriously! Like I could even find people to voluntarily submit their bodies for intense beams of radiation in my stead. (Like I would even want to.) It actually is to prevent medical fraud, and while I don’t understand how you would go about stealing someone else’s medical i.d. to receive medical care, with the cost of medical treatment these days, I definitely understand the motivation!
The third reason is record my progress. Every day, a radiation tech documents the date and initials a box. It actually looks like one of those cards that restaurants give you. Buy five sandwiches, get a sixth free. I asked Noel if the 28th treatment was complimentary, and he said that I get a toaster. I guess that’s quite appropriate since they are literally toasting me every day.
There are usually two techs (most often Noel, Becky, or Liz) in the room with me each day, checking measurements, positioning me on the platform, aligning the machine, playing connect the dots with the magic markers, measuring me some more and then departing the room to push the button on the toaster. They have to come back two additional times to reconfigure the machine as three different fields are radiated each day, beginning with my clavicle. (During that initial appointment from hell that now seems like forever ago, the doctor explained to me that breast cancer advances in a very predictable pattern. It first spreads to the axillary lymph nodes under the arm and then on up to the lymph nodes near the clavicle, so radiating this area will destroy any cancer cells that may have spread and that may have survived the chemo.) Next they do the area under my arm where my axillary lymph nodes once were and also my chest wall. Every other day, they cover me with someone called a bolus that acts like a layer of skin. It causes the radiation to affect the surface of my skin, rather than penetrating more deeply as it does on non-bolus days. The techs work quickly and efficiently, and I am usually in and out of the radiation center in about 25 minutes. I enjoy talking with them, but I keep it brief as I don’t want to distract them and end up having the wrong body parts subjected to the radiation.
Occasionally, there is a student from MCV, Christina, who is also in the room with us. (I feel like my chest has gotten more exposure this past year than a Playboy centerfold!) Noel was explaining to Christina one day how these lines converge here while these angles diverge from these points. Then he would throw in some numbers every now and then for effect. I said to Christine, “I sure hope that you understood what he said because it was totally Greek to me.” The technology is pretty sophisticated, but then they will pull out a little plastic white ruler to double check the converging divergences. I do feel like I am totally at their mercy because it is not like I can check behind them to make sure they are radiating the right spots. (Torture for a control freak!) Not to mention, math was my worst subject, and there is a lot of trigonometry (or is it geometry?) going on. I guess they are pretty accurate – the proof is the huge red radiated rectangle on my upper body.
As you can see, the radiation experience has improved significantly since that visit back in December. My sense of humor is restored. Just as important, it no longer hurts to stretch my arm back behind me while I am on the radiation platform. (Erica, my physical therapist friend was amazed at the progress I made following that simulation appointment. Yea, that’s what 45 minutes of torture will do for range of motion.) Also, the radiation room feels like the tropics compared to the simulation room. When I was originally told I would need 28 treatments, I thought it sounded like an eternity. Since I go every week day, those boxes are filling up fast, and that toaster is almost mine. Today was treatment #19, and yes, I am counting!
As I close, I would like to ask all of you to keep many people in your prayers at this time:
My Auntie Shirley died yesterday at the age of 72 following a three year battle with ovarian cancer. I understand she was courageous throughout the whole experience and gave strength to those around her.
I also lost a great aunt yesterday as well. Aunt Betty was 95 years old and lived a long and remarkable life.
Today, Bo and I found out that an acquaintance of ours was just diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer that is also in her bones and liver. She is only 37 years old.
Finally, my almost sister-in-law and great friend, MaryAnne, learned recently that her mother's breast cancer had returned. In speaking with my Dad today, I understand that MaryAnne's mother is hospitalized and is not doing well.
Thanks for keeping all of them and their families in your prayers.
And, while I am not glowing, after two weeks of being zapped almost daily, the radiated area has started looking sunburned, and it feels kind of sensitive. I have also developed a rash below my collar bone that is quite itchy at times. I was told initially to use only vitamin e cream, and the radiation techs also gave me some aloe vera gel to help alleviate the irritation. If this is as bad as it gets, I can’t complain. I see a doctor once a week, and during my last visit, the doctor told me that my skin looks better at this point than it does on most patients. I always find this type of information encouraging. I guess it’s nice to be “above average” even in radiation treatments. .
When I first began the radiation treatments, they gave me a pale blue card with a bar code and my picture on the outside. On the inside is a grid with lots of boxes. This card has three purposes. When I first get to the office, I wave it in front of a scanner at the reception desk, and it lets the techs in the back know I have arrived. (I guess my strong, bubbly personality isn’t enough to announce my presence, so this technology is necessary.)
Second, the picture ensures that I don’t send an imposter in my place to take my treatments for me. Seriously! Like I could even find people to voluntarily submit their bodies for intense beams of radiation in my stead. (Like I would even want to.) It actually is to prevent medical fraud, and while I don’t understand how you would go about stealing someone else’s medical i.d. to receive medical care, with the cost of medical treatment these days, I definitely understand the motivation!
The third reason is record my progress. Every day, a radiation tech documents the date and initials a box. It actually looks like one of those cards that restaurants give you. Buy five sandwiches, get a sixth free. I asked Noel if the 28th treatment was complimentary, and he said that I get a toaster. I guess that’s quite appropriate since they are literally toasting me every day.
There are usually two techs (most often Noel, Becky, or Liz) in the room with me each day, checking measurements, positioning me on the platform, aligning the machine, playing connect the dots with the magic markers, measuring me some more and then departing the room to push the button on the toaster. They have to come back two additional times to reconfigure the machine as three different fields are radiated each day, beginning with my clavicle. (During that initial appointment from hell that now seems like forever ago, the doctor explained to me that breast cancer advances in a very predictable pattern. It first spreads to the axillary lymph nodes under the arm and then on up to the lymph nodes near the clavicle, so radiating this area will destroy any cancer cells that may have spread and that may have survived the chemo.) Next they do the area under my arm where my axillary lymph nodes once were and also my chest wall. Every other day, they cover me with someone called a bolus that acts like a layer of skin. It causes the radiation to affect the surface of my skin, rather than penetrating more deeply as it does on non-bolus days. The techs work quickly and efficiently, and I am usually in and out of the radiation center in about 25 minutes. I enjoy talking with them, but I keep it brief as I don’t want to distract them and end up having the wrong body parts subjected to the radiation.
Occasionally, there is a student from MCV, Christina, who is also in the room with us. (I feel like my chest has gotten more exposure this past year than a Playboy centerfold!) Noel was explaining to Christina one day how these lines converge here while these angles diverge from these points. Then he would throw in some numbers every now and then for effect. I said to Christine, “I sure hope that you understood what he said because it was totally Greek to me.” The technology is pretty sophisticated, but then they will pull out a little plastic white ruler to double check the converging divergences. I do feel like I am totally at their mercy because it is not like I can check behind them to make sure they are radiating the right spots. (Torture for a control freak!) Not to mention, math was my worst subject, and there is a lot of trigonometry (or is it geometry?) going on. I guess they are pretty accurate – the proof is the huge red radiated rectangle on my upper body.
As you can see, the radiation experience has improved significantly since that visit back in December. My sense of humor is restored. Just as important, it no longer hurts to stretch my arm back behind me while I am on the radiation platform. (Erica, my physical therapist friend was amazed at the progress I made following that simulation appointment. Yea, that’s what 45 minutes of torture will do for range of motion.) Also, the radiation room feels like the tropics compared to the simulation room. When I was originally told I would need 28 treatments, I thought it sounded like an eternity. Since I go every week day, those boxes are filling up fast, and that toaster is almost mine. Today was treatment #19, and yes, I am counting!
As I close, I would like to ask all of you to keep many people in your prayers at this time:
My Auntie Shirley died yesterday at the age of 72 following a three year battle with ovarian cancer. I understand she was courageous throughout the whole experience and gave strength to those around her.
I also lost a great aunt yesterday as well. Aunt Betty was 95 years old and lived a long and remarkable life.
Today, Bo and I found out that an acquaintance of ours was just diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer that is also in her bones and liver. She is only 37 years old.
Finally, my almost sister-in-law and great friend, MaryAnne, learned recently that her mother's breast cancer had returned. In speaking with my Dad today, I understand that MaryAnne's mother is hospitalized and is not doing well.
Thanks for keeping all of them and their families in your prayers.
posted by Mary @ 10:02 AM
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