No news is good news

I haven't had the urge or need to write, because really, nothing exciting or interesting is happening regarding my cancer experience.  I have completed more than half of my radiation treatments at this point, with 15 more left on the schedule.  My boob is red and the skin under my armpit, on my side, is very brown.  I've been applying my special cream twice a day...liberally.  I'm trying to prevent the peeling and blistering that I've been warned about, but am feeling like I'm just conditioning a baseball glove.  The skin is going to be a nice soft leather when this is all over and done with.  Sexy, eh?

My newest personal challenge is to hit the mark without adjustment.  See, when I get on the radiation table, I'm laying on a sheet.  The two technicians do this back and forth game of pulling back and forth to get me lined up. My tattoos must align with the beams.  Sometimes this only takes five or six pulls, sometimes much more effort goes in.  Well, once...and only once...I laid down perfectly.  I found myself incredibly proud to have done this, which is really silly, but nevertheless, I was tickled.  Maybe because the techs were in disbelief?  Do I get thrills from stumping the techs?  I think I've got some deep issues going on here...

The other challenge that has presented itself is losing weight.  The weekly doctor visit weigh-in got me motivated to start dieting.  Or rather, to stop gaining weight.  * embarrassed laughter*  The chemo bloat is now gone and I'm working on losing the fat that I gained during the OHSHITIHAVECANCER phase of my life.

That's it for now.  Oncologist appointment at the end of the month and I'm going to beg to get my port removed. Beg.  Plead.  I'll even throw some tears in if needed.

Radiation

I've started my radiation treatment.

Yawn.

Compared to chemotherapy, this is like skipping with a pinwheel in my hand down a grassy hill on a spring day.

If I'm not comparing the two, then I'd say that it's a huge inconvenience and my boob hurts.  But I'd only say that in a whisper, because I don't want to ever have to be reminded just how awful chemo felt.

My first treatment was on 2/29.  Leap day...cool, eh?

Here's how it goes:

• take everything from the waist up off and put on the gown
• wait for the tech to come and get me
• wait
• wait
• tap foot
• wait
• consider picking up a magazine
• go into the radiation room
• lay on the table, in the form that was created for me
• expose my chest in the cold bright lights of the room
• while listening to country music that is blasting in from above
• let the techs scootchy my body around until I'm lined up to the millimeter
• they leave me and go behind some sort of lead filled wall
• I don't move for fear of getting set on fire (okay, that wouldn't really happen, but it could get me in big trouble)
• I hear the zapping for about 10 seconds (country music can't drown out the rays of a gazillion dollar machine)
• machine rotates to the other side and zaps me again
• Done

The first day, I was sure that I smelled something burning when the machine was about 8 seconds in.  It's amazing what my little old brain can create.  

The second day, I got shunned for moving myself on the table.  You see, it's not MY job to get myself into position for the machine.  Since they are moving me by millimeters, that makes great sense.  I still can't get past not just "doing myself".  He says, "just lay there and don't move...I'll do all the work."  Ah...if I had a nickle...

When I was waiting yesterday to be called in, I picked up a leather bound book that was titled, "Share Your Experience".  I opened it and found pages upon pages that started with, "Hi, my name is..."  Lisa, Debbie, Janie, so many women that had "been there, done that" and got through it.  Some were there for the same reason that I was and some were there for other areas of the body.  Lots mentioned and thanked God for getting them this far.  Lots thanked the staff at EpicCare.  All had their own special words that they took the time to put here for others to hold on to and embrace.  It was like a book of hugs.  

I had to put my hug in there.  I started out just like all the others.  "Hi, my name is Kim".  I wrote a few lines of my story and then left the rest of the page blank with the exception of a few dashes down the page.  I plan on going back to the book over the course of my 33 treatments with updates.

A story that will continue.