I made it through Beethoven’s 9th (which was extraordinary), and Spider-Man made it through his treatment. When I walked into the radiation room yesterday afternoon, his little mask was missing from the wall. I asked the tech if he’d finished and she nodded, smiling sadly. She said that he’d wanted to take his mask home with him, and I teared up as they prepped me on the table. Things are becoming rather difficult and painful now. It’s funny–just as I’ve become adjusted to the actual radiation, to my seven minutes in the mask, the remaining 1,433 minutes of each day are proving much more challenging. I have open sores on my tongue and the walls of my mouth, which make it painful to drink, swallow, and even speak. I’m back on the liquid diet I was relegated to just after my surgery, and I pretty much have to force myself to get anything down. I saw my radiation oncologist, Dr. Higgins, yesterday (I see her every Tuesday), and she prescribed some new pain medication to help with these side effects. We will most likely increase its dosage with each remaining week of treatment. I’m having trouble envisioning the end now–envisioning myself making it to the end–but Spider-Man did it, so maybe I can, too.
Your changing body
This morning, I sat down with a bowl of cantaloupe and blackberries–one of my favorite breakfasts once berries come back in season–and it tasted… odd. The blackberries were good, but the melon was not. It hadn’t gone bad; it was just lacking its familiar flavor. It took me a few bites to realize that it probably wasn’t the fruit, but rather my changing tastebuds (it’s not you, it’s me). I’ve been wondering when this would start to happen with food. It’s unfortunate that it did with cantaloupe, since that’s one of the “Suggestions for Mealtime” in my radiation packet. Oh well. Another small pleasure lost.
I’ve also begun to feel fatigued from my treatments. Any time my daughter slows down enough to watch a television show, I’ll curl up next to her on the couch and be out for the count within minutes. Like, ZONKED. These naps won’t necessarily be long, but they’ll be deep. My doctors have recommended exercise to combat the fatigue, so I’ve been taking a walk every day, weather permitting. I enjoy the fresh air and time to think (which I have a lot of on my hands lately). Today, I thought about how hard it’s been for me to incorporate exercise, consistently, into my adult life. It was much easier as a kid, since I grew up playing sports. And now that I’m dealing with cancer, I’ve found myself drawing upon that aspect of my youth in unexpected ways–needing the grit and endurance athletics require you to have, I guess. Digging for something in your gut that makes you see it through, whether “it” is a grueling practice or simply walking to the end of the driveway, which was my challenge after surgery.
Having to summon this kind of fortitude again makes me regret the ways in which I’ve dismissed my body and its needs in the past, as women and working parents are, I would venture, sometimes wont to do. Now, I’m having to listen and tend to myself in ways I haven’t for a while, which is probably a good thing.
Radiation: Day 1
I returned to the radiation oncologist’s office for my first treatment yesterday. At my therapist’s behest to “go easy on myself”, I took an Ativan beforehand, since my husband was with me and would be able to drive us home. The radiation tech I’ll be working with everyday for the next six weeks is named Tony. He seems like a pretty laid-back, affable guy (or perhaps that was just me/the Ativan). Anyway, getting back into the high-tech torture rack that is particular to my treatment (mask, tongue depressor, straps, etc.) was a bitch, but maybe I’ll get more used to it with each passing day. It’s uncomfortable, not painful, as is the radiation itself. I’m only “under beam,” as they call it, for about five minutes. A huge, mother ship of a machine pivots around me while making strange buzzing/humming/whirring noises and then it’s over. The fact that I felt nothing other than the pressure and tightness of the mask and tongue depressor made me wonder if radiation’s not some kind of smoke-and-mirrors gambit. I’m sure the eventual side effects will prove otherwise.
To that end, I’ve already begun the rigorous oral hygiene regimen prescribed to ward them off (or at least, minimize things): an oral rinse I use every 1-2 hours, prescription toothpaste and mouthwash, hydrating constantly, avoiding acidic foods, etc. You could probably also add writing here to the list. Yesterday, I came across the following quote from a writer and poet I quite admire, Ashleigh Young: “If making work–any work at all–helps you, then keep doing it. However imperfect.” As someone who tends to be very self-critical, I found her words heartening.
Day one down, twenty-nine to go.
Onto radiation
Yesterday, I met with my radiation oncologist for the first time. The waiting room was packed, even at 8:45 am. I realized, once again, that I’m not the only person going through this. Lots of people are. In fact, that’s one of the funny things about cancer. At this point, virtually everyone knows someone close to them who has had it and, in many cases, recovered. Which makes it feel something like the common cold, or allergies. But, you know, a cold that could kill you. It’s a gnawing paradox. As is the fact that every medical waiting room I’ve been in lately has a giant flat screen streaming HGTV. What’s up with that? It just incites ire (in me anyway) to think about how much less a complete home renovation costs than the healthcare we’re all sitting there waiting for.
I was called back to meet with Dr. Higgins in relatively short order, and she was lovely. Calm, composed, empathetic, informative, funny. She took her time with me, which is something I’m really beginning to appreciate in doctors, especially when their waiting room looks like the airport gate for a delayed flight. I’m wary of essentializing gender in any way–I believe that most of it is culturally constructed and imposed–but my experience with female doctors has been markedly positive. That said, it also threw me for a loop that she was roughly my age; for so much of life, doctors are always reassuringly older than you (and yes, I’m aware that this is a form of ageism).
Anyway, she walked me through the next steps of my treatment, as well as the possible side effects, which are varied and intimidating (loss of taste and appetite, severe dry mouth, painful sores, etc.). I will have radiation to my “oral cavity” everyday (excluding weekends) for six weeks. It will be particularly difficult towards the end of that time, and recovery after radiation could take up to six additional weeks. Needless to say, any summer beach plans are now on hold. But that’s ok. I’m on a bit of an unexpected detour in life, and the beaches will still be there when I return to the main road (where I won’t leave my kid in the car).
Well, then 