Ouch

I had my last radiation therapy treatment yesterday. The techs gave me a certificate for "graduating", and being one of their favorite patients. I asked how many get these certificates. "Most" was the answer.

I still feel special.

I want to savor this moment of being done with chemo and radiation, but I'm not sure how to. Perhaps meditating on it. Perhaps putting on my roller skates and skating like a bat our of chemo. Perhaps counseling. I don't know.

My breast and armpit and collar bone are burned. The skin is peeling. It hurts and is scary-looking. "I'm a freak!," I tell my husband. "No, you're not," he says back, "You're my Reb Roush."

That makes me feel better.

******

I'm supposed to start the Tamoxifen today. I'm taking so many prescription drugs and supplements that I'm beginning to understand how people get confused about their meds.

I laid out all my morning pills this morning and considered the Tamoxifen. I decided I'd take it when I take my prescription medications, to keep them the pharmacology lumped together.

Hair, and the advantages of cancer treatment

My body is blossoming in hair. All the places that lost hair (which was everywhere) due to chemo are now sprouting like mad. My head is pelted, my groinicological area is pelted, my legs and eyebrows have hair again, etc. And, regretfully, my hag hairs on my chinny-chin-chin are coming back with a vengeance.

I am pondering never cutting or shaving my hair again, to experience the opposite of being so bald.

The hair on my head seems to change every day. Last week, it was clearly white on the sides and dark on top. Now it appears to be an even mix all over, and could be getting wavy.

The only place that isn't as hairy as it was before is the armpit that was operated on. I have a four inch long scar under there and I suspect that surgery removed some hair follicles.

When I see hairs in the bathroom sink at work, I know they're not mine.

*******

I now have six remaining radiation treatments. On Tuesday, they'll begin the "boost", of which I'll get five treatments. Then I'm done with radiation therapy.

I cannot wait to be done. I am more than tired of all this.

*******

It's been six months since I had surgery. Seems like a couple of years ago.

There are residual effects from the surgery, including continued numbness on the underside of my arm, my nipple looks like it's being tugged in from someplace inside my breast, and of course the two big scars.

*******

I've been thinking about the positive side effects of breast cancer treatment.

I've made a list for possible reference:

1. Spare time because of no hair (washing, drying, curling, etc.)
2. No need to shave legs or armpits (but then again, no desire to be seen in public in a skirt or sleeveless dress)
3. No scouting for facial hairs to be plucked because they're not supposed to be there
4. The heating bill goes down in winter (chemo-induced menopause and its associated hot flashes)
5. A socially-sanctioned period of it being okay to recline a lot (a revelation to those of us who have "look busy" bred into them)
6. Getting a seat to oneself on the bus because of how you look
7. No more menstruation (finally!)
8. Post-surgery pain meds
9. Learning about surgery drains
10. Learning what kind of nurse your spouse is....  or isn't
11. Learning to suspend fear

When did you shave your head?

On Tuesday I rode a train from Seattle to Tacoma, and rode another one back. I was counting bicycles on the train, for work.

I had some time to kill in Tacoma, so browsed through the always-seedy Freighthouse Square. I bought an unusual shirt in a used clothing store, and when I went up to the counter to pay, the cashier asked "When did you shave your head?"

That was a new one.

I told her I didn't, and that I had gone through chemo. She replied "Oh. I see quite a few women who shave their head because they like it."

I told her I would never choose to be bald.

She then asked "Is everything alright, then?"

Wow.

What if I had said "No"? I was tempted to say so, just to see what her reaction would be.

"No, I only have until 6 o'clock, and I want to die in this shirt."

*******

When I go in for radiation treatment each morning at 7:45, I am the first patient of the day. I go into a changing cubbyhole, get out of my shirt and bra, and put on a gown. I then put my clothes and satchel in a locker, lock it, and remove the key.

After treatment, I unlock the locker, remove my stuff, go into the cubbyhole, slather aloe gel on my left breast, chest, armpit and shoulder blade, put on my clothes and hightail it back to work.

The last week, when I've come out of treatment, there's been a man changing for his treatment. I have no idea what his ailment is, but it's clear he's suffering. He grunts with discomfort every time he moves. He struggles with the lockers. I've heard him swear in his frustration.

The little bit that I've observed him makes me consider that maybe I ought not to complain so much about my disease and treatment.

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.

That was weird...

I was heading into the treatment room for radiation. The tech was reminding me that they were going to do films today, as they do each Monday. As a result of being distracted by her conversation, I approached the treatment table from a different direction.

I couldn't figure out how to get on the table. I was backwards/turned around.

I had to go to the other side to get up on it.

My brain couldn't help me figure out how to do this simple different step.

*******

I asked the tech what people say when they describe their radiation therapy/side effect fatigue.

She said some people say it hits them suddenly, and others say it creeps up on them.

I think I might have had the sudden onset this weekend.

Pavlov's breast cancer patient

It is indeed becoming routine to get radiation therapy. When they tell me it's time, I enter this room, where multiple monitors have all kinds of data and information about me. I bark out my birth date, and they let me proceed into the radiation treatment room.

It's the end of the second week of six weeks of radiation. The last few days, when I'm laying down on the table, I close my eyes keep them closed until treatment's done. I've thoroughly explored the room with my eyes, there's no need for me to do that anymore. I am not interested. I just want this over.

*******

I will be done with radiation treatment about a month from now. I've decided to celebrate in two ways. First, many people at work have been a big help to me as I've gone through the whacky world of cancer treatment. I want to take a break from work and have lunch with them. I suspect that they also want to acknowledge my illness and the completion of treatment.

And I'm going to have an informal gathering at my house for friends and family. The challenge for me will be to not run the party, but to sit back and celebrate with those who care for me.

*****

After treatment on Fridays, I'm seen by the Nurse Practitioner. She looks at my breast and today she said she can see my skin changing. When I told her I didn't, she had me stand in front of the mirror. She pointed to where it's changing, and indeed I could see it. The area where I'm received radiation is becoming slightly discolored. 

She said that my nipple will become very tender.

Great.

*******

I was telling some coworkers this past week that I have no embarrassment about showing virtual strangers my breast. I've become accustomed to showing it whenever a medical professional asks if to see it.

I told them that I'm worried that some not-medical-professional will say the magic words one day and without thinking, I'll pull my shirt over/up/off. I'm like Pavlov's dog, showing my breast when the bell rings.

It's not unusual when treatment's done and I'm sitting up while they're retying my gown, for there to be someone standing there I've never seen before. One time it was a young man who was introduced to me as an intern. I wondered what he thought about seeing the odd-looking breast of a 51 year old woman who's bald and fidgety.