Right after I put on my new, incredibly comfortable and hip mesh bra (eye rolling is automatic now…no need for the cue), The Best Husband and I drive over to the Compassionate Cancer Center for my first visit with the radiation doctor. Angie, the receptionist is incredibly happy. She’s also incredibly nice. And she’s like that every day. She must see so much pain and misery. How does she do it? I have an envelope of documents for her. I don’t remember if I had to fill out the hundreds of obligatory (and redundant) pages of personal and medical information. Regardless, it’s not long before I’m placed in a room where the wonderful paper shirt is waiting. You know the drill. Undress from the waist up. Another half-naked visit with someone I don’t know. Yippee.
Dr. D. comes in, introductions all around. We chat. He gropes…wink, wink. Well, not really, but at this point in my treatment I feel like its groping. I know he’s really just examining the girls. He takes a good look at the brachytherapy device (BD….aka evil metal meat skewer) and the eight catheters (octopus arms) sticking out of my boob. I tell him that Dr. P.’s office said I could go home and take a shower. That doesn’t seem right to me. Dr. D. says oh no, there will be no showering while the evil metal meat skewer is in place. That makes more sense. Dr. D. fills us in on how this whole deal is going to work.
The next day (Nov 16th) will be the treatment “mapping” appointment, which basically consists of a CT scan. Using the information from the CT scan, the technician will create a treatment plan using the computer program that runs the machine that delivers the radiation. The day after that (Thursday, Nov 17th), will be day one of treatment. The internal radiation is delivered twice a day (morning and afternoon) for five days. My schedule is 7:30am and 12:30pm. Before each treatment, a CT scan is done to ensure the evil metal meat skewer hasn’t moved or broken (yikes!). For the CT scan, I have to lift my arms over my head. Not as easy as it would seem. But we “git ‘er did” every day. After the CT scan, it’s a short walk to the room where the octopus arms are hooked up to the radiation machine. I’m sure it has a name. I think of it as the mouse house.
Once the eight tubes are hooked up to the eight octopus arms of the evil metal meat skewer, the technician leaves the room to start the computer program. His name is Carl. It took me a couple of days to remember his name…duh, really? He always said, “Okay, I’m stepping out now.” I always said, “Okay, I’ll wait here for you.” Made me chuckle every time. Like I was going anywhere?
The machine starts whirring. The computer tells the radiation mouse to leave his nice warm house, travel down the tube into the BD where he looks for cheese. Well, not really, but who wants to think about a radioactive device literally burning the tissue inside your boob? Not me. When he’s done with his first cheese search, he runs back into his house. There is a loud click. Probably a mouse trap, which he is smart enough to avoid. Then he runs down the second tube, looks for more cheese, and runs back into his house. Another loud click. This occurs eight times (one trip down and up each octopus arm). By the second treatment of the second day, I’m counting the clicks, knowing when I get to eight, I’m done. It only takes about 10 minutes. Carl comes back into the room and using a geiger counter, makes sure the mouse has gone back into his little house. He unhooks me from the machine. I dress and head to the lobby where The Best Husband is waiting to drive me home. I never did name the mouse. Should have I guess. I was feeding him cheese twice a day.
The Best Husband chauffered me every day, twice a day, to my radiation treatments. The BD was so painful that I had to hold a pillow to my chest while he’s driving. You don’t really realize how terrible the roads are in Vegas until every bump causes pain. Thursday and Friday pass pretty quickly, with four car trips. The rest of each day is spent at home trying not to move. I don’t know if the BD was pushing against a nerve or what, but I could not bend forward, sideways or backwards...let's just say that any movement was seriously discouraged as it brought pain. This meant I was unable to wash my hair in the kitchen sink or take a bath. I learned that sponge baths aren't the greatest.
The weekend was the worst. The days stretched across minutes of nothingness. It was around this time that I withdrew from my college class. No way could I focus on schoolwork while I was in this much pain. I looked forward to Monday like crazy. The only bright spot was my sister-in-law coming to visit from Oklahoma (xoxo, Mrs. M.) Also, I am a stomach sleeper. The BD (aka the egg beater or kitchen whisk) forced me to sleep on my back. Sleeping on my side wasn’t an option. Sitting all day and sleeping in the recliner got old pretty quickly. I tried the couch a couple of times. It was like torture. On top of that, I felt so filthy. Any minute I expected to see flies buzzing around my head. I considered changing my name to Pig Pen from the comic strip Peanuts. And lifting my arms over my head in the CT scan every day, twice a day, I thought I was going to knock myself out from the arm pit smell. Not to mention the jungle growing under my arms and on my legs. Eeeck. I would not make a good homeless person.
On the third day (Monday), after the second treatment, I had a breakdown and became despondent. “I can’t take much more of this,” I told The Best Husband. I sniffled for a second or two, and the poor pitiful me moment was over. I think this was the day the pain medication made me sick, and I threw up twice at the cheese show. This was also the day I saw the lady with the tattooed makeup sitting in the lobby at the radiation center. She looked the exact same as the first time I saw her. Still scary.
Knowing the BD was going to be removed shortly after the last radiation treatment (the Wednesday before Thanksgiving), the days can’t move fast enough for me. I’m looking forward to a shower and sleeping in my own bed. I’m pretty sure The Best Husband is getting tired of the whole ordeal, too. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without him though. He decides he’s going to ask for the evil metal meat skewer once it’s removed so we can hang it on the Christmas tree. Don’t think that’s gonna happen.
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