I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille

Next week Group Health is going to come by the house to film me at home, in the yard, in my studio, riding my bike. 

When I was going through treatment for cancer, I enrolled in a study to research the effects of having access to a "nurse navigator." What this meant was an oncology RN called me once a week to chat about how I was doing, answer questions, assess symptoms, etc. It was a wonderful resource and I was fortunate enough to have a great nurse.

I saw my Oncologist every few weeks, but our relationship wasn't chatty. He was full of information, but wasn't particularly comforting. My nurse navigator gave me great comfort.

So, in the few years since the study, Group Health has decided to make the nurse navigator study a real program, and I was asked if I could be interviewed about my experience, and filmed.

Heck, yeah.

The video producer wants to film me in my studio, making jewelry. So, this morning the spouse and I spent a few hours cleaning the basement because my studio's down there. 

Between cleaning and hot flashes, it's a three-shower day.

In which she learns that cancer is like an annoying friend she can't shake...

I saw my Oncologist a few weeks ago for my regular check-in/check-up. He said I'm doing well enough to come in every six months, instead of every three. It's a kind of graduation.

I talked to him about hot flashes caused by the Tamoxifen. I've been taking Tamoxifen for over two years. Amazing to think I've been having these hot attacks so long. He suggested I change to the post-menopausal hormone-blocking meds. I asked him about side effects, and he said "You're at higher risk for osteoporosis. Let's do a bone density scan."

The scan results show I have osteopenia, the red-headed stepchild of osteoporosis. 

Great.

At what point do symptoms stop being a result of cancer and treatment and start becoming a result of aging?

Halfway there..... Where?

If you'd like to start at the beginning of this blog, it's here.)

On Friday, I made the half-way mark in my radiation treatment. 

On Monday, the Radiation Techs took x-rays, to ensure the radiation was zapping me where it ought. They do this each Monday. The Radiation Oncologist examined the x-rays, and ordered more because he saw discrepancies. It took a long time to take the images and I was uncomfortable throughout it. When they were done, they continued their game of tic-tac-toe on my chest with a variety of colored pens. Because I was such a good girl, they also gave me a sticker to put over one of their markings. It's still there, securing this very, very important location.

After treatment I met with the Radiation Oncologist, who told me my skin looked good. It should. I've been slathering it frequently throughout the day with aloe vera gel, as directed by his Nurse Practitioner.

He asked about hot flashes, which have been driving me nuts. He recommended increasing some medication I'm on, to see if it alleviates this annoyance. 

My niece is taking "hot yoga" classes. I told her anywhere I take yoga classes, it's hot. No need to go to a special class.

*******

On Wednesday, I rode my bicycle home. I've done that a few times, now. I am dreadfully out of shape. Before getting home, I stopped up on Phinney Ridge for a torturous yoga/pilates class. I was sweating heavily by the time I got there (there are a few hills), and while changing in the bathroom, remembered that I am now mostly bald. I turned on the cold water in the tap and stuck my head under it. Doing this felt great. It was very nice, extremely handy and there was no fallout from having bad hair.

When I ride my bicycle into work now, it takes me very little time to take a shower, dress and get to my desk. When my hair is longer, I'll have to spend more time on it, prettying it. I'm conscious of the time-saving effects of having no hair:

• No hair? No hair products.
• No hair? No shaving armpits and legs.
• No hair? No plucking eyebrows.
• No hair? No hag hairs on my chinny-chin-chin.
• No hair? No need for mascara.
• No hair? No peri-menopausal moustachios.

Jeez, I look like my Papa.

My eyebrows look kind of cool right now. 

They're each the same length, and short, as if they'd been mowed. Plus, they're growing in all over the place. It's a thatch.

******

So, I'm halfway through radiation therapy. Toward the end of this treatment, I'll see both my Oncologist and my Naturopath. The Oncologist will begin prescribing the hormone therapy that is supposed to decrease the chances of the cancer returning. These hormones have a bevy of potential side effects, and the Naturopath and I will discuss what I can do to offset them. When she and I first talked about these meds, she admitted that if she were in my situation, she would be torn as to whether or not to take them, when weighing the possible side effects against the long-term benefits.

I acknowledge that I'll take these meds, and want to be prepared.

*******

I know I'm getting older. I'll be 52 in July. My hands, feet and knees ache. I don't know if this is because of the cancer treatment, or because of age. Frankly, I don't care. I've watched so many of my aging relatives go from limber to creaky that I know it's my fate, also. If the radiation therapy causes arteriosclerosis 20 years from now, so what? If the hormone therapy makes my bones brittle when I'm 80, so what? My fate is to live long and suffer.

*******

My great-nephew and I are both enjoying this socially-sanctioned time of being relatively hair-less.

Radiation Therapy finally starts

If you'd like to start at the beginning of this blog, it's here.)

Today will mark one week of radiation therapy, and five more to go.

On Monday, I went in for what they call final treatment planning. 

To me, planning means you sit down with a bunch of people to come up with a game plan for moving forward. 

To them, planning means a jillion x-rays, playing tic-tac-toe on my chest with markers and tattoos, coming in and out of the room to shield themselves from what they're giving me, and ultimately reaching a point where they and the Radiation Oncologist are happy with my position and the machine's measurements.

Tic-Tac-Toe

I just do what I'm told.

I had to change into a gown, lay on a stainless steel "bed" that had a sheet on top of it for my added comfort, raise my left hand over my head and remain motionless (except for breathing) for almost an hour. It was hard to do. My arm both hurt and had its circulation cut off. Wisely, they had told me the one thing that made me not complain or move, "If you move, we have to start all over again."

They removed the gown from the left side of my chest to expose my breast. In order to take the numerous x-rays, they taped my right breast out of the x-ray field. It felt like a jog bra on one breast. More than one of the techs made marks on my chest with markers; various x's and o's. These temporarily complimented the three tiny purple permanent tattoos they'd given me.

The x-rays allow them to map exactly where the radiation should be pointed, and they use the x-rays in conjunction with the CT scan they took a few weeks ago.

This x-ray shows where the machine aims to zap any remaining cancer in the lymph nodes under my arm. I have to confess that my rib cage is much more pear-shaped that I like.

Below are the 3d images taken from CT scans, where the Radiation Oncologist has determined the radiation should be directed and to what degree.

The radiation therapy machine moved around the table I was laying on, and opposite it was an x-ray machine that moved at the opposite end of its arm.

This photo shows the radiation machine lurking over me. Under the table is the x-ray component, and they are always equidistant from each other as they rotate around my body blasting me with x-rays or radiation.

When they were all done with the final treatment planning, they gave me my first treatment. I couldn't feel anything. I did lay there and listen. The machine moved around me, stopping at specific locations and making a noise like a complaining baby Great Blue Heron being throttled.

I was told that the following day's treatment would start with a few x-rays to confirm the measurements they took the day before were accurate. Once that was done, the subsequent treatments would take very little time.

I arrived on Tuesday and asked the friendly reception staff if I could either change the radio station that's always playing in the reception area or turn the damned thing off. The music's annoying and not at all soothing. 

The unfriendly reception staff inserted herself into the conversation and said "No. We can't get any other channel and we're required to have it on." She annoyed me off so much with her aggressiveness that I'm going to plan a passive-aggressive response.

When prompted by the technicians, I started the routine that I assume I'll be able to do in my sleep by the time the six weeks is up.

• Go into changing room
• Take gown out from drawer
• Take shirt and bra off
• Put gown on, tied in back
• Drag satchel and clothes out to lobby
• Remove key from locker
• Open locker and put clothes in
• Lock locker
• Walk a few feet and wait in waiting room
• Text my husband or Facebook or niece or goddaughter
• Follow the tech toward the machine
• Give my birth date so we all know it's me
• Assume the position

They started taking the additional x-rays to compare measurements from the day before. After a few takes, one of the techs who was in the room with me was called back into the room full of monitors and computers and the other technicians. After a few minutes of nothing, another tech came out and said they needed to take some more x-rays because things weren't lining up. She asked if I could wait a bit while they "sneak in" two patients who were waiting, and then they'd be able to give me their full attention for as long as was needed.

Sure, sure. Whatever.

I went back to the waiting room and texted my husband. After a while, the Radiation Oncologist came in and talked to me about the delay, that today's x-rays didn't match those taken the day before, and how important it is to make sure everything's right.

Since I had him to myself, I asked him about a couple of things I'd been told and brooding on. During the first meeting with he and the Nurse Practitioner, I was told that there was no way that the radiation therapy could avoid hitting a small part of my heart and lungs. I wanted to know what this meant, and what the implications were.

He said that the heart itself is very resilient, and if there is an effect there, it will happen to arteries and will only manifest many years after treatment as arteriosclerosis, much the same as the effects of high cholesterol. The chances of this occurring are very slim.

Regarding the lungs, he said that we have more lungs than we need anyway, and that if lungs are affected (again slim chances) , it will manifest as something appearing to be pneumonia, though without the fever. It would be treated with anti-inflammatories.

After a while, I was called back in and they finished the x-rays, gave me my radiation, and sent me on my way.  Before I left, one of the techs reminded me to use the aloe vera multiple times a day, to avoid the inevitable sunburn effect that will manifest in a few weeks. He also confirmed I shouldn't use antiperspirants because the aluminum in them will cause my armpits to explode into sores.

For my third treatment on Wednesday, I arrived a little early. The mean receptionist said with no greeting "We're on hold with the machine back there. Have a seat." After two treatments, I was being "treated" like a nonentity. I'm not going to approach her again, given the chance.

I wandered over to the aquarium and watched this fish, who I could relate to. She'd found her piece of coral and wasn't going to come out unless she had to. The other fish were swimming crazily in circuitous routes within their constrained home, while she stayed safe and mostly hidden. Smart fish.

*******

After work on Wednesday, I rode my bike home for the first time since I started treatment in October of last year. I was nervous and asked my friend Jos to ride with me. She did. We braved all the construction on Dexter by riding on the sidewalk. I made it up both Dexter and Fremont, though in the lowest possible gear. I am horribly out of shape and weigh more than I ever have. But, I made it and look forward to next week's rides.

*******

My eyebrows are growing back. Note the three original remaining eyebrows acting as a placeholder.