Blue Gowns and BFFs

I'm winding up the radiation treatments. Tuesday was the last of the full radiation and today started the "boob boosts." Chris came with me on Tuesday, since this would be the last chance for him to see the full radiation in action. Thus, we have photos! That's me with my Blue Gown BFF Ms. 9:15 (okay, her name is Melanie). You see how she rocks the cute hats while I stick with the scarves, and there's another semi-regular who has a perfect wig (there's really no way to tell she's wearing a wig it looks so natural) so we cover the spectrum of chemo fashion. And this gives you an idea of the initial part of my radiation mornings--we change into our blue gowns (oh and either the light blue or the dark blue is supposed to be the "large" gown--neither one of us can remember or actually tell which is the large size).

Next up I get called into the room where "The (giant moody) Machine" is. Meet The Machine--that's her on the right. Menacing looking isn't she? Well, she's fighting off cancer, so you'd expect her to be menacing looking.
And speaking of fighting off cancer, here's me assuming the position with the assistance of the world's best radiation therapists (Shirley on the left, Jana on the right):
Normally at this stage my blue gown would be off down to my waist, but that's not really appropriate for a blog. Once I'm positioned like this, they (and Chris in this case) scurry off behind the thick metal door, which I also insisted Chris photograph (that's it on the right, the door swings shut toward Shirley during the radiating of me). I just find this 1,000 lb door kind of amazing.

I described the actual radiation process before (if you've forgotten, just click here: "Radiation Explained" and it will take you there) so I won't go into that again. I'll just point out that today was the first "boost" radiation. Look back up at the photo of the machine. See the extension coming out of the middle of it (kind of looks like a brace) that isn't in the photo where I'm laying on the table? That's for directing the boost to the tumor bed--you know the one that is circled and butterfly stickered at "right breast 10 o'clock." The boost is pretty quick. I was about 10 minutes late this morning and still made it in, out, thru Starbucks and to my office by 9:30. The final four are all that's left. Should be breeze.

I now also have a plan mostly in place for celebrating the end of treatment on (please, please, please, fingers crossed dear machine) on July 14th. First, my Blue Gown BFF and I are going out to breakfast. She'll still have her 5 boosts left to do, but hey, it's worth celebrating how far we've both come. Then LAUREEN PITTMAN and I are taking off for a girl's day--shopping (can I find a dress that doesn't make me look like a pudgy, bald, retired linebacker? Unknown), lunch, shopping and then it's the Brea Glen Ivy day spa for manicures, pedicures and massages. Maybe even facials. Whatever we can get appointments for and fit in in the time we have. Then it's home to celebrate with Chris. And the next morning? I'm sleeping in! No radiation appointment for me!! So close I can almost taste it.

I did think I had a month off before I had more doctors appointments, but that didn't quite work out. I couldn't get appointments with both Dr. Glaspy and Dr. Karam on the same day that was also a day that works for me until late August. Dr. Glaspy's office didn't think I should wait that long. And Dr. Karam is leaving on vacation at the end of July...so, July 23rd it is. I get a whole 8 days off before I have another doctor's appointment. Truth be told, I don't know what's in store for me at those appointments. Do I get a mammogram? Do I get an MRI? I don't know. Maybe they just see me and we schedule those things for later. I just know it's not surgery, it's not chemo and it's not daily radiation. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

When you're voting in the poll over to the right, well...things have changed a little... the August 14th appointment is now July 23rd. But, there may be a mammogram or an MRI in August, I don't really know. So basically that August date will stand for "after the last doctor's appointment before we get to the regular check-up appointments." Makes total sense, right? Good. Now go vote.

[Special Programming note: tomorrow night is Chris's Forgotten Grapes wine tasting event at Omakase and it's sold out!! Hence there may not be a post tomorrow night, but you know what's great about that...you don't really worry about me anymore when I don't post. You see how I'm improving over time? When I return to posting, I will show you the Survivor shirts that have been made and the party planning committee hard at work--because practice partying is hard work.]

Radiating Me

That's not me in the photo. You know how you can tell? Because he's wearing black socks. Oh, and because he's a man. But that is very much like the radiation machine that I'm spending intimate moments with every morning for the next five weeks. And that's the position I assume.

Here's how it's gone: Tuesday morning was the last day of the treatment "planning" sessions and what I call the "undress rehearsal." Not too big of a deal--just me practicing the "walk in, check in, grab a gown, strip down to the waist, throw on the gown, put clothes in the locker and report for duty in the waiting area with similarly attired folks" routine. Once the radiation nurse comes and gets me, she has me lay down on the "bed" that is very much like what you see here. The tricky part is that they manipulate you and move you around by pulling on the sheet underneath. It's hard not to lift up and let them pull the sheet out, but that's not the point of it. Once I was positioned they commenced with the artwork.

See the photo on the right? Yeah, that's not me either. Know how you know that? That's a left breast and as we all know by now "my" cancer was "right breast 10 o'clock." But that is a very good photo of the type of artwork they created on my body. Only my ink was purple. And they circled each of my little "freckle" tattoos. Luckily this drawing stuff was only done on the practice day and won't be done every day. Thank goodness, because the ink was difficult to get off and the office wasn't well prepared (or, prepared really at all) to help me get the ink off so I could get dressed and return to work without turning my top purple. She gave me little alcohol swabs--and by little I mean 1" by 1 1/2" --to dab at the ink in my dressing room but all that did is get it wet enough to smear it all over the place. Of course there was no tissue or paper towel available. (This will just be our little secret--I used the hospital gown to wipe it all off. Hey, they should have given me something reasonable to clean up with!!). I always get the feeling that I'm the only person who returns to work after treatments. How exactly does one get 6 months off for cancer treatments??? I don't understand why the treatment offices aren't more prepared to deal with things like, oh, I don't know, the fact that not everyone is headed home to a shower after their appointment?

Anyway, so on the undress rehearsal after the drawings are done they do a dry run of the radiation. But that's boring, so I'll tell you how the actual radiation this morning went. See the black and white photograph? That gives you a good idea of how the patient lies still and the machine moves around the patient. In my case though, my arms were above my head holding on to a little bar and of course, the right breast is exposed. The other thing you can tell from that photo is that it's a pretty big room. Once things are positioned everyone else clears out. The two nurses are kind enough to explain though that I am on camera and there is an intercom if I need them. These are slightly scary things to say right before they leave the room. Because for a moment I'm just lying there alone in this big room, partially naked, with this machine pointed at me and everyone else has fled to safety behind a very thick vault-like lead door and concrete walls. So naturally I'm thinking, why would I need them? Why a camera? Jeez, how serious is this?? Of course that's when the machine starts and the green rays become visible--across my chest. It's a little noisy and lasts maybe 10 or 15 seconds. Then the machine moves, shoots out another laser and radiates again for a short interval. This happened 4 times and basically the machine rotates from my left side around to my right--radiating the breast from different angles. And then, that's it. I didn't feel anything (physically; mentally it's a little weird). I was in and out in probably 20 minutes and most of that is the changing in and out of my clothes. I was in my office by 9:30.

The first few of these aren't going to be difficult. It's after the skin starts getting sore that it gets tougher. And the fatigue will come back after a few weeks as well. Right now, I'm just tired because I'm getting up earlier than normal and I haven't been sleeping well--which may be because the construction has started on my office expansion (yeah, I know, life isn't exciting enough right now) and there's a lot going on there too. Busy, busy times.

Several people have asked me, and you may be wondering, why I have to have radiation even though I had chemotherapy. The way it was explained to me was that the chemotherapy was to save my life; the radiation is to save my breast. Okay, fair enough. I'd like both of those things saved. I'll keep going back. And I'll keep you posted, of course.

PS. Remember to vote on the new poll on when Chris should cut his hair. And while you're at it, remember to check out Chris's latest Forgotten Grapes posting.