1 Down, 32 to Go

Before I begin, I've decided that from now on, my breast formerly known as left will now be referred to as B- and my right will be B+.  Writing breast over and over, it's becoming one of those words like "panties" and "moist", just ew.

Today I started radiation.

I have 33 scheduled treatments.  

I'm not sure where I last left off.  The doctors brought my case before the tumor board and determined that a few things worked against my favor- my age and my type is ER-negative (meaning hormonal medications used to stop growth of tumors are useless for me).  So my doctor feels in her gut that radiation is the best way to keep my percentages and chances as low as possible.  

Last week was the simulation.  They measure, mark, and tattoo you.  Oh yeah, tattoo.  Measurements are to the millimeter and cross-checked.  They adjust the x and y of the table in subtle jerks.  Check again.  

I lay on my back with arms overhead, holding on to bars.  And these people are all up in my business with little rulers and sharpie markers.  

I am slid into the machine and it whirs - kind of like an MRI, this gets the lay of my land, so to speak, so they know at what precise angles to direct the radiation.  

When they have it right, the tech comes in to tattoo me.  It's 4 pinpoints no bigger than a .  One outside B+, one on my sternum, two outside B-.  I asked him for a butterfly or anchor or something cool, but he said his artistic talents are limited to .'s

Yesterday was a dry run.  I am laid on the table again.  The ceiling overhead is painted like a night sky, with white dots for stars.  I'll see this ceiling 5 days a week till mid-December.  More checking, now with laser-level lights from the ceiling x-ing across my chest.  All I can think of is 

They tug the sheet under me here and there to line me up, and take and few pictures from the left, swing the machine over to my right, and shoot again.  The oncologist approves the line-up, and these will be my settings.

Today was number 1.
Same room, same techs.  I say "I feel like I was just here yesterday!"  Then realizing, hey dumbass, I'll be here tomorrow, and the next four or five weeks.  I am not so clever after all.

I am lined up and adjusted more efficiently now.  The rad. onc. places three little patches around B- that will measure the dose I receive.  The machine starts 90 degrees to my left side.  (No more laser lights though!  I was kind of disappointed.)  The room is dim, but when they hit the button to zap me, the room lights flash on.  The machine orbits around slowly to a 45 degree angle to my right.  

As it passes over me I catch my reflection in the glass pane of the machine.  It caught me off guard a bit.  Like seeing myself how all these doctors and nurses are seeing me.  Seeing myself from outside myself.  It's a vulnerable position.  Arms braced over my head, B- hanging out in the breeze with sharpie-x's around the scars.  I'll catch that reflection for 33 days.  Or I could start counting the stars on the ceiling. 

I think this gives me more anxiety because with the mastectomy, it was instantaneous.  I like things to be taken care of NOW.  This is a long, intimate treatment road, and besides any rash or skin reaction, I can't SEE that it's working on the DCIS.  Takes a little more mental fortitude to keep the positive up for nearly 33 days straight...   

Lights out, lights on, treatment done!  Literally 5-7 minutes outside of getting gown on, setting up, almost 20 minutes in to out.

I don't feel anything with the treatment itself, but have been counselled on the skin reaction that may start within the next 1-2 weeks.  Mild reactions such as a tanning or pink tone to the skin, or more severe reactions such as a blistering rash.  Awesome!  There are creams or medications to help.  They suggest I go bra-less whenever I can.  No problems there!!

I grabbed coffee from the cafe counter outside the radiation suite.  I should make friends with the cashier, as I no doubt will be getting 33 cups of coffee from her in the next few weeks.  It's just too easy.  That's how they make you feel better.  All the coffee.  If they only had a bar..... 

I met two older women in the waiting room.  One on her 20th and last day, one mid-way through.  Both had undergone chemo, too.  So far I only have seen older (than me) patients here.  I am definitely the young newbie.  But these women were funny, saying there probably wasn't anyone in the hospital who HADN'T seen her boobs by now. They say these people become like family, because your treatment time is pretty much locked, you'll see the same nurses and patients.  

So I'll see you in 32 days!!!