A great line!

Hemp!

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Where are your shoes?

Radiation 101

I was directed to the "other" side of the Club today.  Destination Radiation.  I walked back to the desk and the gal told me to go back to the Women's Changing Room.

"I don't know where that is.  I mean, I was shown once, but I didn't take notes and now I can't remember...can you walk me back?"

She walked me all of about 10 steps down the hall.  "Here we are!".  Well that was a little embarrassing.  We walked into a room that sort of looked like a gym locker room, minus the shower.  "Here's your locker.  Take everything off, put this gown on with the opening in the back and...let's see if you have a shelf yet...nope...okay, well, the next time you're here, there will be a shelf with your name on it and that is where you'll put your gown."  She left me standing there with a key in my hand and a look of confusion on my face.  I get a shelf?  Do I have to wear the same gown every day for six weeks?  This gown looks a little small...open in the back...with everything off?  Hmmm-kayyyy.

I took everything, except for my undies, off and put my gown on.  Should it really be this hard to tie the strings?  Why aren't my fingers working?  I ended up with a loopy-knot-half-bow and put my stuff in my locker.  I sat in the little waiting area for my tech to come and get me.

I could hear something going on the other side of the door.  "Three...two...one...deep breath in...and hold."  Then a whirring sort of a hum sound came through.  Seconds passed and then I heard, "And breath."  This repeated twice more and I found myself holding my breath with her.

The door opened and a big tall black man was standing there in blue scrubs.  "Miss Stover?"  I stood up.  It hadn't even crossed my mind that there would be a man on this side of The Club.  "Hi.  Yes.  Me.  Kim."  He looked at me and said in a louder than normal voice, "Where are your shoes?"  

Blink.  Blink.  Blink.

"Um, well she told me to take everything off!"

Horror crossed his face.  Then, as he does the 'Aaron Rodgers Touchdown Move', he says, "Do you have underwear on???"

"YES!!!"  Thank God I thought to leave my underwear on.  Relief came over him...and me...and then he told me to put my shoes back on.  Apparently we had a lot of walking to do.  And apparently, one needs to wear shoes for this sort of thing.  And underwear.  He left me to get my shoes on, for what seemed to be an eternity.  How long did he think that it would take me to put my shoes on?  Did he go and tell the other staff about the crazy woman that stripped down to bare feet?  I decided that I wouldn't make eye contact with anyone once I went through that door.

Finally, he came to get me and as he brought me through the door, he introduced himself as Dave.  Then he says, "and behind you is Brianna".  Ack!  Slightly snug gown open in the back and someone named Brianna is behind me???!!!  I whipped around, made eye contact, then dropped my gaze to the floor.  "Hi."  No eye contact.  No eye contact.

We went into The Room.  Very white.  Very cold.  Dave explained to me that I'd be laying on the table while they made a form fitted mold to my body.  My arms would be up over my head and I was, under no circumstances, to move.  If I had to cough or sneeze, I was just to do it and not cover my mouth.

Everything is electronic, so he had to take lots of pictures.  First, of my face.  Do I smile?  Do I take my hat off?  Do you really need to be that close???

Again, he reminded me not to move.  About three hundred times.  Okay, so not three hundred, but plenty enough to make me feel like they doubted my ability to follow direction.

So we get me all into position on this little skinny table.  I'm cradled in my bean-baggy mold-making-thingy and Dr. Princess comes into the freezing cold room and says, "Hello Miss Stover!"  She's always so chirpy.  She pulls my gown off of my front and says, "You're going to have to help me.  Which scar is from your partial mastectomy?"  I pointed to it with my left hand...and then freaked out.  I moved!  Simon didn't SAY!!!  Was this some sort of weird game that they played here???  Dave told me that if Dr. Princess asks me to move my arm, it's okay.  Whew.  I wasn't going to be ostracized from The Club.  Dr. Princess took a Sharpie marker (apparently an advanced medical instrument at The Club) and drew all over the dang place.  Once I was all marked up, she thanked me for being such a good patient and left.

Dave then taped some wires to me, and some beads (felt like I was a few knots away from a nice piece of jewelry)...then once he was satisfied with his work, he told me that he was going to leave the room, but that he'd be able to see me through the window (I get it...I won't move).  Once the door closed, the table started to move.  I was laying there, with arms over my head, not moving a muscle.  I was being brought through a very narrow tunnel.  It made me feel like I was going on a really cool roller-coaster...you know, at the start when you go into a tunnel, then the lights go out...and then whoosh!  But there was no whoosh.  It moved very slow and I noticed that there was a little orange pattern of lights that were indicating that I was moving "inwards".  At the top of that pattern of lights, there was a little lighted outline of a woman.  It was done like a 5 year old would draw a woman.  Circle for a head, triangle dress body, two legs and two arms.  Except this little woman had her arms up over her head.  That made me laugh (not out-loud...because that would cause movement).  Was this a little reminder to keep my arms over my head?  I could hear whirring, but nothing around me was moving.  Red beams caught the corners of my eyes.  Lots seemed to be going on, but everything in my tight little tube was still.

At this point, I took note at just how clean this white tube was.  Man, what would life be like if I didn't have dogs?  Things would be this sterile at my house.

Next thing I knew, the table was exiting the tube and I was done.  Dave came back in and told me that Dr. Princess was happy with the scan and now we'd do my tattoos.  I asked if he'd be doing butterflies and hearts.  His response was, "No, I do dragons."  Dave was cool.  The tattoos were painless, just a little pin prick.  He thanked me for making his job easy and then took five pictures of my boobs.  I was thinking that I better not see those on the Internet tonight, but chose not to say what I was thinking.

Sometimes I'm smart like that.

I was done.  I got back to the locker room and peeked to see if I had a shelf yet.  No shelf, but looking at all the names there made me feel more in touch with the girls that I was now "Radiation Friends" with.  Diane, Char, Melissa, Tory...lots of others.  I would likely not meet these women, but they were my friends nonetheless.


Monday, February 13, 2012

What Did You Say?

After this last chemo treatment I had an appointment with my very direct and lovely Radiology Oncologist.  She looks like that Disney Princess from Aladdin.  Long, thick, dark hair (me...green with envy), big round dark eyes and a smile that sparkles.

Dr. Princess needed to recap my past treatments in chemo with me.  We argued about the dates of things.  For the record, I was right every time.  I told her that there were certain dates in my life that I would likely NEVER forget.  Chemo treatments would fall into that category.  She asked me lots of questions about my experience and then capped it all off with, "Did you gain weight?".

What?  Really?  You're going to ask me this question on a day when I'm so weak?  What exactly is on that laptop of yours?  Are you playing solitaire or are you looking at my records???

In a calm voice, I said, "YES I GAINED WEIGHT!".

Deep breath.

She nodded, as a princess would, and looked at her screen.  "Ah, yes, I see that you are up 8 pounds from when you first came to see us."  I hung my head and said, "I didn't sign up for that kind of chemo.  I wanted the kind that would make my bones protrude."  I guess we don't get to chose how our body reacts and I guess I'm lucky to be here typing this, eight pounds heavier.  Chubby wrists and fingers click-clack-clicking away.

We reviewed all of the stuff that goes with radiation.  I get two tattoos this week from her tech (wondering if I can request a little heart and a butterfly) and the alignment of hot beams will be precisely put into place.  They will be hitting me from over and under with the beams and the main side effect that I can expect is a burned boob.  As if I spent too much time in the sun without sunscreen.  Then Dr. Princess says, "Other side effects could include heart and lung trauma".  "What?"  I was having such a hard time hearing some of what she had to say.  I mean, I HEARD her, but I didn't hear her.  You know what I mean?  Like it would just glaze over me...then settle a bit...then I'd recognize what she was saying.

So I guess you can have bad things happen to your heart and lungs from the radiation to the breast.  I said, "Okay, well, it's not like I'm going to say 'no' to the treatment, so it is what it is."  Her response was, "You are so very practical."

Practical?  I don't know that I've ever been told that I was practical...

But really, what would the response be at that point?  "I'm outta here..."  No.  Must take care of all of this and take the risks that come along with the treatment.  I'll get through it.

I will be treated, or fried if you like, every day for more than six weeks.  I'm looking at the beginning of April for a completion date and then I'll just treat this cancer crap with a drug for the next five years.

I was all ready to skedaddle myself right on out of there when Dr. Princess mentioned that I'd need to be checked a few months after, most likely at the one year mark, to see if the cancer was gone.

What did you say?

This is where I draw the line.  I accepted my cancer diagnosis in September.  I accepted the surgery to remove the bad-boy and then the second surgery to make sure that all of it was gone.  I accepted the chemo plan and I accept the radiation.  What I don't accept and refuse to "hear" is that the cancer might not be gone.

I refuse to accept that as part of my reality.

I will not hear it.

So for the record, when they make me go in to screen for this in another six months or so, I WILL be clear and free of cancer.

The end.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

FINAL CHEMO!!!

I couldn't even sleep last night.  I was too darned excited about being done with this step of my journey.

Prior to going in to my Club Chemo visit, I stopped at the best donut shop in town.  Well, it's the only donut shop in town.  I picked up two dozen lovely fried dough balls, along with some croissants and pastry.  You see, I'm such a regular at Club Chemo, I know that Nicole doesn't like donuts, but she loves croissants.  My brain makes room for stuff like this, but sadly, this bit of information about Nicole pushed out something that was likely important...like paying the PG&E bill or feeding the fish.  Anyhow, I got my donuts and took off for the Club.

I needed to see Nurse Practitioner Christine before going back to the Club.  Being super smart, I asked if I could go back to the Club first and drop off my party donuts.  As I was going back, I announced to every person that I passed, "IT'S MY LAST DAY OF CHEMO!  EAT A DONUT!"  Seriously.  I shouted it.  Heads turned.  I just couldn't seem to help myself.

I walked into the Club and told Nicole that I brought party donuts.  She made a face like, "ew...nice...ew".  Then I said, "And there are croissants in there..." with a lilt in my voice.  Her eyes lit up and her face changed to, "YOU ROCK!"  Yes, I do.

Then I looked over to my right and lo and behold...MY chair was open.  I asked if I could leave my bag while I went to my appointment and, well heck...I was holding a big giant pink box of goodness...how could they say no???

The sheer amount of giddiness that I had about achieving my goal of having the same chair for all four visits was ridiculous.  I practically skipped over.  Okay, so I actually skipped over...with my free arm waving to the other guests in their cabana chairs.  "I brought donuts...it's my last chemo!!!!"  A man and his wife was leaving the Club and he said, "Life is easy after this."  I shot him a smile and then tried to shove a donut into his hand.  I'm such a food pusher, even in an environment such as the Club.

My visit with NP Christine, aka the Dog Lover, went well.  She did everything that she needed to do and checked all of my labs.  Then we talked about my BodyMedia that I wear on my arm and about her dog and how he played tug-of-war with a piece of linoleum in her husbands shop.  I'm sure that the next patient was waiting with a foot tapping wondering where in the hell Christine was.  Sorry fellow cancer patient.
This is Christine with her 9 month old Golden...she rocks him in a chair every night for 20 minutes.

Kelly, the medical assistant that takes my weight (she's been sworn to secrecy...pinkie swear...it is legally binding), brought her scarf with her so that I could show her how to do a turban.  She planned on spending her lunch break with me in the Club so that we could do a lesson.
My fancy turban wrap.

After my time with Christine, I went back to the Club and guess what?  My chair still had my bag in it and there were more people that had arrived...and they were eating my donuts.  Sheer bliss.  And when every new Club member walked in and said, "Who brought donuts???"  I announced, "ME!!!  IT'S MY LAST CHEMO!!!"  Big smiles, thumbs up and congratulations came at me left and right.  It was such a big difference from my first visit to Club Chemo.  I remember thinking that it was very doom and gloom.  Now I knew what kind of donut Edna preferred.  Glazed old fashioned.  I also learned that Edna is a messy eater, because Nurse Sandra complained of the crumbs that she left behind.  I made a mental note to double check my chair when I left.
See that chocolate old fashioned?  That was mine.

The cocktail was the same as always, but it seemed to go by faster.  I still had to unplug and go to the bathroom half a dozen times, but it just didn't seem to be an issue any longer.  Sandra looked at me each time I walked past her station and smile.  I'm going to miss her.  She was the first to put the cocktail in me and, as it turned out, she was the one that drained the last bag.
Nurse Sandra with me...love her.

This was an experience that I'll never forget.  Good bye Club Chemo.  I'm changing my vacation spot to somewhere warmer...Destination Radiation.

The next chapter to come!

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Take Two and See Me in the Morning

I call this "Reality Wednesday".

You see, I know that my chemo treatment will be tomorrow.  I think about when the next one is going to happen the very moment that the last one ends.  However, the REALITY of it doesn't hit me until I have to take my two steroid pills the morning prior to the treatment.

That is today.

I pull out the prescription bottle from the back of the rack and take my little pills out.  I look at them.  Then swallow them down, knowing that the chemo will be here soon.  It's really a dark moment for me.  Reality can be dark.  And dank.  And doomy.  Doomy?  Not a word, but I was looking for another D word...sorry for my abuse of the English language.

Today is different from the other Reality Wednesday's.  You see, this is my LAST Reality Wednesday.  The LAST time I'll have to stare at those two little pills in the palm of my hand.  THE LAST FREAKING TIME I'LL HAVE TO ANTICIPATE CHEMO-THURSDAY!!!

My last round of treatment.

Amen.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Hair

I miss my hair.  Mostly when I see beautiful women with thick, long, flowing hair.

This is really a waste of energy.  As I sit here with a bald head, the truth of the matter is that, prior to chemo, I had thin, short, notsoflowing hair.

I've been told that when the hair grows back, it can come in a different color and or texture. I'm going to put my order in to the high and mighty hair goddess...blonde, thick and stick straight please.  Actually, I'd like to have Marsha Brady's hair.  I always loved her hair as a young kid and I think that since I've had to go through this awful hell called "CANCER", I should get my hair wish.  Quick!  Everyone light a candle.

Many friends have said, "just wear a different wig every day".  Eh, I tried the wig thing.  Actually, prior to Christmas, I went to my local American Cancer Society office to pick out a free wig.  Isn't that cool???  They GIVE you a wig if you have TheBigC.  I went in, quite excited, and met the consultant.  Prita was from India and had her hair all tied back in a tight knot.  She was very pleasant and took her time with me as I went through just about every single wig in the house.  I tried every length, every color and every texture.  She was incredibly patient with me as I laughed my way through the piles of hair.  I had put one on that was cut above the ear on one side, stuck straight up in the back and was down to the shoulder on the other side.  She tried her best to keep a straight face, but ended up bursting out in laughter when I looked her square in the eye and said, "I think this is the one."  I ended up picking out a long black wig that had burgundy highlights.  As I left and was thanking her for being so kind, I said, "Merry Christmas!" and then realized that I made a major faux pas...she celebrated something else.  I grappled for the name of her holiday...Ramadan?  I wasn't sure and I didn't want to offend her, so I just bowed my head (very Asian of me) and shuffled my way out holding my new hair as the sweat started to bead up on my forehead.

I've not worn the wig once.  I tried, but to me, it's like it's part of a Halloween costume.  Wait, I did wear it on the way home, but ended up pulling it off while driving down the freeway.  The guy in the car next to me was sure to have had nightmares after that.

My facial hair has managed to miss the chemo hit.  Well, most of it.  I still have a few eyelashes, I still have my nose hair (that would have been weird), I still have the four hairs that hover over the corners of my mouth and I still have my eyebrows...except for one spot over my left eye.  I have an eyebrow bald spot.  I tried using brow wax to do a "comb over", but just ended up looking confused.

If you see me...please don't look at my bald spot.  I've got a little complex about it.
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