In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger.
~ Shakespeare
~ Shakespeare
Last Wednesday, October 15th, I met my Radiation Oncologist for the first time. Dr. Kim is a very tall Asian man with soft, kind eyes. He spent over an hour explaining every detail of the radiation treatment that will consume my life for the next six plus weeks.
Hopefully, Dr. Kim was unaware of the fact that I was probably still drunk for my 8:15 am appointment. I pray that he couldn't smell the alcohol leaching from my pores or the remnants of my time spent over the sink, emptying the contents of my stomach. I look back on the previous night; the night I drank the guts of two bottles of Chardonnay by myself, and ask "why did I do that?"
The answer is simple. The same reason I went and got my nails done before my radiation mapping, (more on that later), appointment on Friday the 17th, knowing full well that it would probably make me late or miss the appointment all together.
The answer: sabotage. The truth is... I am fucking exhausted. I mean, bone tired. I have hit the runner's proverbial "wall" more than once during this marathon and I've already pushed through. I have been through hell and I'm barely clawing my way back up into a life that is almost recognizable, almost tolerable. A life that doesn't include copious amounts of drugs for everything from pain to constipation. Managing the side effects of chemo and surgery alone could keep the pharmaceutical industry thriving!
I've had it! I'm tired, and I don't want to go through radiation. I don't have anything left in the tank. I don't have any reserves. I don't have anything left to give. I just cannot get my head around the additional exhaustion and fatigue and I can't seem to get geared up for the inevitable burns, blisters, allergic reactions, etc.
Don't worry, what intelligence remains will win the battle between head and emotion. I will put one foot in front of the other for as long as I must until the "active treatment" phase of this war is complete.
Dr. Kim was kind enough to share some of my scans with us. The following is a side-by-side view of my PET/CT scan before chemo on the left and after chemo on the right:
As you can see, the pre-chemo picture on the left has a large bright light on the left breast. That light represents an area of high metabolic activity, my large highly aggressive tumor. A few months later the scan on the right doesn't have anything lighting up. So, we know chemo works.
The pathology studies on all eight lymph nodes, and the abundant breast tissue removed during surgery showed "no remaining carcinoma or metastasis." So, we know oncoplasty works.
What about radiation therapy?
Well, I eventually made it to the mapping appointment. The technician had a consent to treat form all filled out and ready for me to sign. Luckily, I caught the word "tattoos" at the end of the procedure line. I asked if the tattoos were permanent and absolutely necessary. She said they were. However, after pressing her for alternatives to permanent tattoos, she finally acquiesced that it was possible to mark the skin with markers and cover the markings with stickers that would prevent the ink from rubbing off and last for approximately 2 weeks.
Despite my obvious relief at this news, the tech continued to pressure me to get the tattoos because "it's much easier for the techs". Finally, I lost the plot and and explained to her in an elevated and clipped tone that I had enough scars and permanent reminders of this ordeal. I told her that none of this has been easy for me, so I wasn't too concerned if her job included changing some stickers 2-3 times during my six plus weeks in radiation therapy. Thus, she saw my tiger imitation.
Begrudgingly, the tech placed me on a cold, hard CT table and lined me up so that green lasers traversed my chest three times. Once the doctor approved my body positioning and the positioning of the beams of green light, the tech marked my skin with bright blue ink in the places where each beam of radiation will enter and exit my body. There are 12 markers in total, which would have meant 12 tattoos! When I released I would have had 12 tattoos I nearly went full blown tiger on her. Luckily for her, I am too weak and too damn tired.
Today, I go "once more unto the breach, dear friends...". Wish me luck and please continue to pray. As of today at 1:15 pm, radiation beams will replace the green laser beams and attack any cancerous cells that remain, I am scared... twice bitten by chemo and surgery, twice shy about radiation.
With Gratitude,
Tiff
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