Carle knows me pretty well by now. She knows if I’m tired before I say it, she
knows if I’m hurting before I try to move my arms above my head. She gets me.
So I wasn’t all that surprised when she took one look at my skin and
suggested calling in one of the oncologists before proceeding with today’s
treatment; she knows my body well enough to know it wasn’t doing so hot. Pun intended.
My oncologist, Alice, is on vacation. So Carle called in a doctor whose name I can
never remember. But I know it starts with
a C and I know she’s really friendly and kind, and so in my head, I think of
her as Mrs. C, from Happy Days. The
actual oncologist doesn’t look anything like Marion Ross (A/K/A Mrs.
Cunningham), but it’s a lighthearted and safe image with which I feel comfortable. Plus, Happy Days was set in Wisconsin, so she’s
kinda like one of my countrywomen.
Anyway, Dr. C examined my skin and immediately started
talking about how I might want to think about taking a break from treatment. We talked about how raw and open my skin is,
how the burning is getting pretty bad, and she thought a few days off might
help at least a bit. She assured me it’s
safe to take a day or two off – it won’t limit the effectiveness of my
treatment. She also told me something I
didn’t know: it takes 3-5 days for the effects of the radiation to show
up. So what I’m seeing and feeling now is
only the result of what’s happened as of last week. In other words, it’s going to get much worse
before it gets any better.
As it is, my nipple is in constant pain. It’s a combination of nerve pain and just,
well, burning. My areola looks like a drought
zone, filled with deep cracking and at least 4 distinct shades of burnt
red. My surgical incision randomly jolts
me with electrical zaps of regenerating nerve pain. But my armpit is probably the worst of all:
it is open and raw, and of course is constantly rubbing on itself. So it
hurts to move my arm, it hurts to wear anything with sleeves, it hurts to even
shower. And let’s not even discuss how
hard it is to find a comfortable position for sleeping.
(Interesting note: Hair stops growing in areas being
radiated. So my armpit, which is already
half-red and half-white, is also half-hairless and half-fuzzy -- it became way too
irritated to shave anymore about 2 weeks ago.
So basically I’m currently rocking the weirdest looking armpit west of
the Mississippi.)
I decided to go ahead and get today’s treatment, since I was
already there and lined up on the table; that part of me that doesn’t want to
admit how weak and human I really am decided I could just tough it out, despite
the fact that all I really wanted to do was get the hell out of that place as
quickly as I possibly could. And then
take a nap.
But we did the regular treatment, and then Carle did some
extra work to prepare me for my upcoming “boost.” The boost is not as much fun as it
sounds. Every time she says it, I
immediately think of the free boost you get with a Jamba Juice. They have, I dunno, energy boosts and whey
protein boosts and maybe a femme boost of some sort. It’s probably just extra sugar or something,
but it’s a catchy gimmick and I really do love
me some smoothie drinks! And, you
know, it’s happy sounding.
Sadly, a boost, in radiation terms, is something entirely
different. So far, my treatment has been
going after my entire breast and all its tissue – hence the armpit
burning. It’s a general treatment,
designed to protect that breast from any cancer re-occurrences. What they call a boost is really when they go
after the site of the original cancer.
If it wasn’t happening to me, it would be fascinating.
They have these really cool 3-D scans of my body,
specifically defining my lumpectomy bed (the cancer that was removed, along
with the surrounding tissue). It’s a bit
of a goofy shape, and it’s almost directly behind my nipple. So they traced the outline of that tissue
from the scans, and then cut the shape out of a metal plate. That plate is attached to the end of this
full-on NASA-lookin’ zoom ray thingie that gets attached to the normal
radiation machine. (The plate will be
melted down when I finish my treatment, and then reused. I love the sustainable approach to this
process, but am also a bit bummed – I kinda want to keep is as a fucked-up
souvenir.) Of course I’m simplifying all
of this, but the point is that it’s brilliant and crazy as hell, and it looks
straight out of an original Star Trek episode, maybe something that threatens
to vaporize Spok.
The point of all of this is to zero in on that lumpectomy
bed and aim all the radiation at the original point of my cancer, to make sure
any remaining malignancy is zapped in to oblivion and prevent anything else
from growing there. Needless to say, I’m
not looking forward to this change;
it’s my understanding that I’ll be getting the same dose of radiation I’ve been
getting all along, but all of it will be concentrated on that one small area…which
means that one small area will be getting all the concentrated damage. It’s not a pretty picture.
At least Carle did her part to make a pretty picture from
it, though. She needed to make a few
marks on my breast with a marker while they were measuring for the boost. When I changed back in to my clothes after
treatment, I realized that somewhere in that process, she drew me a smiley
face. I really do love that girl.
So, I’m taking tomorrow off from radiation. And because of the Labor Day holiday, that
means I’ll have 4 days off before my next treatment. I’m partially relieved, but also partially
disappointed. I’m really ready for this
phase of my treatment to be over, and part of me wants to just get the damage, suck
it up, and then get to the business of healing already. I hate prolonging it – it’s not like I get to
skip tomorrow’s treatment, just tack on an extra day to the end. I’ve never been a procrastinator, and I feel
like that’s what I’m turning in to.
But there’s something to be said for just taking some time
to breathe. My momma used to let me skip
school once in a while, provided I wouldn’t miss a test, to take what she
called “mental health days”: she said it was important to take a day now and
then to just relax and hang out. She
used to call in to school for me when I was ill and needed to stay home, and
she never thought there was any difference between calling in for me because I
just, you know, wanted a little break.
So I’m thinking of tomorrow as a mental health day, a day to try to
breathe and sleep and rest and not have to leave the house or even get dressed
if I don’t want to. I’m giving myself
permission to cuddle with my kitties and play guitar if I have the energy, or just
stare at the beautiful flowers Kara keeps bringing me if I don’t.
After all, it’s not like that radiation table won’t be
waiting for me when I get back.