I know. These days I seem to wait longer between each blog
post. There’s a reason. I am deliriously tired. Many ask, “Why? Aren’t you finished with
chemo?” Yes. My last chemo infusion was
Nov. 14 and I was expecting to have some energy afterwards.
“Radiation is a cake walk compared to chemotherapy!” Huh? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve
heard that comment from fellow cancer fighters.
On the misery spectrum, it’s hard to top days 2-5 after a chemo
infusion, but after that it’s not so bad...at least for the regimen Dr. Moss
gave me. I was no longer sick to my
stomach, felt tired, but could perform normal tasks, as long as it didn’t tax
my chemo brain.
Radiation has been much more difficult for me. It might be because of the fact that I’m two
hours from home and miss my guys (although I'm ever-so-grateful for the hospitality of Lauren & Jesse and Liz & Barry!). Also, the pain in my shoulder seems to get worse
with each treatment. I’ll explain the shoulder pain a little later.
Let me first explain a few facts about radiation found
in my booklet named “Radiation and You”, another piece of reading material given
to me recently.
“…More than half (about 60%) of people with cancer get
radiation therapy…Given in high doses, radiation kills or slows the growth of
cancer cells….Radiation therapy does not kill the cancer cells right away. It takes days or weeks of treatment before
cancer cells start to die. Then, cancer
cells keep dying for weeks or months after radiation therapy ends….radiation
not only kills or slows the growth of cancer cells, it can also affect nearby
healthy cells. The healthy cells almost
always recover after treatment is over.
But sometimes people may have side effects that do not get better or are
severe.”
Let’s rewind back to December 2. That was the day I had my “radiation
simulation”. After changing into a
purple-ish colored gown (from the waist up), the sweet-voiced radiation
technician removed the gown and had me lie flat on my back. I was told to grasp the handle bar over my
head (OW! Intense shoulder pain!). She placed
a moldable pillow under my head and asked me to turn my head to the right. She then removed the pillow, told me to relax
my arms (whew!), sprayed the pillow with something and wrote my name on
it. “This will keep you from moving your
head during treatment. Now it’s time to
get you set up in the computer. “Put
your arms over your head again and grasp the bar.” If you’re an avid Keeping You Abreast “fan”,
you’ve read the blog post titled “The Incident” posted in August. It’s the story of our 25th anniversary
weekend gone awry. A would-be romantic candlelit
bubble bath in a Jacuzzi turned into a fiasco when I slipped on the tiled tub
and landed on my elbow. Two years later,
a chiropractor held up my x-ray to the light showing a partially dislocated
shoulder. Yes. That’s how I roll. I wait until I can no longer function before opening
Pandora’s box of scary diagnoses.
Back to the radiation simulation….Holding my left arm
over my head for five minutes is excruciating.
On that day, I had to do it for over an hour. I was distracted from the pain when the technician
drew little dots and lines all over my left breast, cleavage, and upper chest. I made a joke about my bikini exposing the
marks at the beach that weekend. She
laughed like she didn’t hear that every day.
How kind.
Then the sweet radiation technician with the baby voice
said,
“Now I need to put wire tape over your incisions. She quickly saw the one in my armpit from my lymph node dissection and guided the tape over it. She searched all over looking for the scar from the tumor removal. She turned the lights brighter in the room and looked closer for it, her face only inches from my breast. After I watched her search for a couple of minutes (I get my entertainment wherever I can these days), I pointed to my areola. That’s the 2nd time I’ve ever typed that word.
“Now I need to put wire tape over your incisions. She quickly saw the one in my armpit from my lymph node dissection and guided the tape over it. She searched all over looking for the scar from the tumor removal. She turned the lights brighter in the room and looked closer for it, her face only inches from my breast. After I watched her search for a couple of minutes (I get my entertainment wherever I can these days), I pointed to my areola. That’s the 2nd time I’ve ever typed that word.
She gasped. “OMG!! Who’s your surgeon?” I was happy to know that I had the most invisible
scar she’d ever seen but perplexed by the fact that she didn’t seem to notice
the purple golf ball a few inches below it.
“Dr. A.J.,” I said.
“He’s a great surgeon…and easy on the eyes,” she said. We
both laughed. “That, he is.”
Finally
it was time for my tats. I was a little
worried about the pain but then remembered that horrible drain in my armpit and
the swelling eggplant I had a couple of months ago. I’ve got this.
She said, “First the ink…then the needle…” She repeated that procedure four times. I barely felt one of them. The other four…nothing! Whew. Yes,
I now have five tattoos. They are small
blue dots-all five of them-and they’re the size of a freckle. I have lots of freckles on my chest so,
although my tattoos are blue, they blend in with the rest of them. So
that every radiation treatment isn’t a Where’s Waldo game, they covered the
tattoos with clear tape and drew a big black dot over the freckle with a
Sharpie pen. I contemplated the logic in
that procedure, but I kept quiet. The
answer might have meant one more minute of shoulder torture. I’m not supposed to remove the tape until
radiation treatment is over the end of January. All I can say is…I’m…. too sexy for my shirrrrrt.
She spent over an hour aligning me (the dots on my chest)
with the laser that would soon be pointed at various locations on my chest and
armpit. It’s very important to lie completely still during every
treatment. A cough could mean accidental radiation of my
heart or lungs.
My first of 33 daily (Mon-Fri) visits was a week later. I was ready to get this ball rolling and get
back to normal. Ok. A new normal. My
shoulder was still throbbing and burning from the simulation and I was dreading
one more minute of the bar above my head.
I talked to Dr. Matar, my radiation oncologist, about my shoulder and
she recommended physical therapy. I had
already left a message for a PT at Baptist Health, but no response. I’m beginning to see unreturned calls and bad
vibes as a sign from above that it simply wasn’t meant to be. What used to be frustration now makes me
smile. Dr. Matar called Stephanie, a
P.T. with St. Joseph and scheduled an appointment for that week.
I’ve heard people talk about physical therapy and how
rigorous and painful it can be. My PT Stephanie calmed my fears immediately. “You’re considered to be a STAR patient,” she
said. I don’t recall if that’s an
acronym for something like Shoulder Torture for Ann Ritchey. (Ritchey is my
maiden name. It would have been funnier
had I been considered a STAD patient). Well,
it turns out that I get an “easy pass”, all because I checked yes to the cancer
box.
After Stephanie’s long list of questions and balance
tests, she tested my mobility of my right arm.
She asked me to bend my right arm and touch my elbow to my ear. No
problem. 180 degree mobility. “Try doing
the same with your left arm and stop when you feel pain.” 90 degree mobility.
“How long has it been like this?” she asked. The shock on her face when I told her two years confirmed what I
already knew: I had put myself last on
the list. Actually, I thought it would get better. I knew my trips to the chiropractor helped
but I always used work as my excuse for not going regularly. As for physical therapy, I was just afraid of
the pain.
Stephanie gave me a series of easy exercises to do while
at home. I’ve done them, although not faithfully
this past week.
I’ve had a persistent cough and was told in the
beginning that it’s a common symptom of radiation to the chest area. Lauren played nurse last night bringing me
various medicines in bed because I was too weak to get out of bed.
*:)
ReplyDelete