Can’t sleep, my back is killing me. And I mean that literally. I can hear your words already….hold on, you
haven’t spoken in months to the aliens from another planet that read this
drivel. (Although I really don’t think
of it as drivel, more like a nice scenic drive through the thoughts on my
life). I know, I know…..you want to know
if I’m dead or alive and everything in between since my diagnosis of new tumors
last October.
I promise to try and recap in the fewest amounts of words,
but don’t hold me to that. You know me,
sometimes my mind wanders and the next thing you know is that I’m talking about
gray rain and of the bright warm object that sometimes shows up in the sky. It changes the entire gray surrounding you
into vivid greens, shocking pinks, laughing yellows, fiery reds, and even some
purple and blues appear in the sky. See
what did I tell you……waxing poetic.
….so where did we leave off.
Oh yes, I remember. In October,
during one of my ritual exams – starving yourself of caffeine, sugar, milk, and
yes even cheese, then being stuffed for hours in a tube way too small, with
your hands over your head, a needle shoved up your arm, and a voice telling you
to “breathe”, “hold your breath” over the loud noise of jet engines. So much fun, but it’s also ritual. I walk into Radiology and the receptionist knows
me, wanting to know when Dylan is coming home from college and how’s Hannah
doing in her new school. Nevermind
showing i.d., I’ve been coming to see them for three years. Sorry….waxing again. It turned out I had five new tumors, four in
my spine, and a nice big one in my sternum.
I had had tumors in my sternum when I was originally diagnosed with
breast cancer and I knew how much of pain in the ass this new tumor would be.
I got my game face on and was ready to face the music. I was ready for chemo hard and radiation
trips every day forever. Little did I
know that I would have favorite music and comfy pillows while getting
treated. Huh, I know you’re scratching
your head wondering what the hell I am talking about. Let me get back to my story and I’ll explain
everything. My oncology doctor and my radiologist
decided that I was a candidate to have a new form of treatment for the
tumors. I was going to have a new form
of radiation called “Cyberknife”. This
new radiation treatment was developed by doctors at Stanford. I’m sorry but you’ve got to love the Stanford
medical community – sure the Mayo clinic is good, but those guys down south are
on the cutting edge of using technology in treatment of cancer, heart disease,
even Alzheimer disease.
Normally when you have radiation treatments, you get zapped
for two to five minutes. That’s the easy
part. It’s the fuss of driving to catch
the ferry, praying your car will make it up the hills to the hospital (while
S.F.’s hills are higher, Seattle is way
up in the clouds as well – and remember I drive a manual transmission);
changing your clothes, locking up your stuff, waiting your turn in a ridiculous
gown that even though you’ve tied the belt, if you’re not properly snapped at your shoulders the stupid gown is going to fall off of you. And then of course, surprise you get to do it
again. An no, it’s not next month or
even next week, it’s tomorrow. Day after
day, you get to experience the monotony of radiation along with the blisters that
form inside your mouth, your skin beginning to blister, and learn that yes, you
can throw up 60 times in one hour. I mean, come on - how many times can you read the most current "People" magazine in the waiting rooms.
Cyberknife is large amounts of radiation to very specific
area on your body. It’s in a room that
has 12 foot thick walls and door (and no, I am truly not kidding). The room is in the bowels of the hospital and
is huge, probably 5 times bigger than my living room. In the room is the "Machine", I liken it to a
humongous sewing machine, with a steroid pumped arm. Remember,
normal radiation is spread over a region – i.e. – for my previous
radiation treatments, my entire sternum
and everything around it, including my esophagus was radiated – hmmm, how I
remember the green bile I keep throwing up due to the burning of my esophagus
lining. Cyberknife mixed with computer technology
targets very specific spot. They
implanted three pieces of gold into my sternum surrounding the tumors. The gold helps the machine to calibrate where
to aim the radiation. Zap……do I get to get off the table and go home. No, the machine moves one degree to the
left. Zap……the machine moves. Lucky me, I’m on the table for near an hour
and a half. But this isn’t a “hold your
breath” torture device. You are on a
comfy warm table with lots of cushions for your head, your feet……and yes….they
give you nice and toasty warm blankets. Plus,
you can bring your iPod to play your music.
I remember on my first day, I gave them my music to play…….I told them
that I had a sort of eclectic musical taste and that they probably wouldn’t
like. They immediately asked if it were country music as
I could see them taking out their earplugs from lab coat pockets……No. Some Lucinda Williams, Damien Rice, etc.
Back the ear plugs went into their lab coat pockets.
While yes, I did have to come back the next day, and two
addition days. I had close to 6 hours of
radiation in 4 days……should I have had the old fashion “breathe” torture device,
I would have had to make the trip from the island, via ferry, to Seatle, up the
hills to the hospital for approximately 90 days. Yum……what fun.
So we’re doing the wait and see. I am still suffering the effects of radiation
poisoning – I understand I get to have that one for about a year or so. So if you see me staring off in space and
look unresponsive – no I’m not dead, just phasing out due to the
radiation. Yes, I still have to schlep over
to Seattle to suffer the slings and arrow of my monthly dose of chemo, followed
by two wonderful weeks of chemo sickness.
I had a CT/Pet scan in February.
The tumor on my sternum is receding, the tumors on my spine don’t appear
to be growing, nor do they appear to be getting smaller. It’s wait and see time – yet again.
But time is passing by, my flowers outside are beginning to
smile with their vibrant colors, the gray is giving way to the sun, and I have
had another year with my family. . They are going to have to take me kicking and
screaming before I’ll leave them. I love them so much…….so much so, that their
laughter helps to ease some of the pain…..although Oxycodone is a great help for
the spinal pain.
