Sleep Schedule Disruptions

Here I am at 12:53 AM....looking at the magic picture machine. I guess radiation fatigue may be messing with my Z-z-z-z-z's. I crash and burn at 7 or 8 or 9 PM but then I'm awake at 1 or 2.

I'm starting to notice my skin changing with the treatments (18 down, 15 to go). I'm not uncomfortable, but the process is headed in that direction. My breast now hurts vaguely most of the time (with occasional shooting pains...normal, I'm told), and the texture of my skin is starting to feel like shoe leather despite the aloe vera.

I continue to be amazed at the tenacity of cancer patients with treatment plans far more challenging than mine. People make their way through grueling chemo regimens and THEN do this....impressive...and appalling. There are people all around us living through some incredible odysseys. Why am I just starting to clue in? I really didn't know I was such a self-focused creature until this experience.

Week 3 is History

I'm pleased to say I'm motoring on through radiation treatments....15 down, 18 to go. Still no side effects, although the tougher time is coming up.

Looking forward to Matt's arrival home next Saturday and to Dan Stack's wedding the following Saturday, although I'm a little sad to see Miss Jenna return to UMBC next weekend. Although she exists in a totally different time zone than the rest of us (awake until 3 AM...asleep until 12...or 1....), we enjoy our brief encounters.

Summer 2009 has been the weirdest ever--like no summer at all except it seems like a year since I started this process in May.

Alas.........

Lisa's Easy Bake Oven

This is where I hang out these days...

My very own linear accelerator (complete with a handy-dandy ladder standing by for ??)

I staged a pre-nuke photo op this morning. I'm sure the whole world is as fascinated as I am with the inner sanctum of the oncology suite.

So....radiation oncology trivia fans. The table (with Lisa lying on her back, arms overhead) slides back under the round part and moves up closer underneath it. The instrument rotates around me to establish the correct angle.

Total treatment time is roughly 3 minutes in 6-8 shorter segments.

The monster unmasked

I found my monster's picture....

...he's actually a "Multileaf Collimator."

Those little individual rods move around to shape the radiotherapy beams to go precisely where the doctor wants them to go. I still think it looks like a snarl when they treat me!

The Monster in My Cherry Blossoms

Have I mentioned the radiation machine has a face? No…really.

Each morning as the machine rotates into position over me, its innards begin to realign in a precise computer-generated snarl.

The counterpoint—a giant photo of sunshine, blue sky and cherry blossoms in full bloom…on the ceiling. Talk about surreal.

So anyway, there’s a monster in my cherry blossoms. He spits toxic cancer killer rays.

PS—I’m not feeling as cranky about radiation therapy as week #2 comes to an end. On Monday I was downright morose.

No skin side effects yet—I’m sure that will rain on my parade, big time.

The Monday Wall

The wall jumped out in front of me again....it was called Monday. For some reason, waking up to week #2 of the seven week radiation seige did not make me feel very chipper. I laid in bed this morning and contemplated the excellent prospect of running away from treatment...except my breast and the possibility of cancer recurrence would just go with me. SHOOT!

There are days when I think I understand the whole mastectomy choice--although I imagine the reconstruction process is no picnic either. Bottom line--breast cancer stinks.....but my situation is downright cheery compared to many.

Speaking of which--may I just say visiting the oncology center every day gives me a glimpse into the lives of my fellow humans. I met a lady today who had breast cancer (lumpectomy w/radiation) ten years ago and is back for chemo & radiation for her second bout of lung cancer. I guess hearing those stories gives me the blues, too. I worry I might not be finished with cancer, although I meet so many people who seem to be cured.

Well--my father says, "One day at a time," and that's what I'm going to say, too. My 2009 cancer is gone. THE END.

FOREVER.................

Four treatments down....29 to go. No side effects yet.

Saw the local medical oncologist yesterday. She was very agreeable and informative. The drug/s they will give me after the delightful Easy-Bake Oven treatments have a wonderful list of side effects as well. I've always gotten through medical stuff with a minimum of fuss, but breast cancer is going to give me a run for my money.

I sometimes wonder if the cancer will rear up and finish me off....or the "survival" therapies themselves!

But I must go with the flow and get nuked and de-estrogenized!

What an 'adventure', indeed. I can't even fathom the additional burden of chemo in this equation--those folks are amazingly strong people.

...Glowing...

Two treatments down...31 to go. Yay, me.

The treatment takes about 2-3 minutes of actual zapping time, plus the targeting time--probably about 5 minutes in the treatment room and 20 minutes getting in and out. Very manageable, but it seems like a long haul at this point.

I'm told I can expect the skin side effects to kick in after about two weeks.

This is progress, anyway.....

Our Son, the Pirate

Now that I have learned to use photographs in my blog, I would like to take this opportunity to share a non-cancer moment...

This is our son, the ever-so-serious scholar, working on his masters dissertation in English Literature in England...or not!

He entertains me....what can I say?