April 17, 2021
Friday is radiology check-in day. Yesterday was almost typical, with a few exceptions. Here’s the report.
Dr. Radiology
Dr. Radiology and I meet after I have my treatment. She listens to my lungs– excellent, she reported– checks on All The Things, answers questions.
When might we expect to see evidence of tumor suffering and death? Perhaps in 4 to 5 weeks, but maybe not. (Always the qualifications. Here are the common side effects, but maybe not. Here is the path we will take, but maybe not. I am impatient with uncertainty.) My interest in the tumor’s lifespan and its demise led Dr. Radiology to tilt her head and smile, “Oh, an overachiever?” Yep, that’s me– a cancer overachiever.
Back to the tumor. The speed of its demise is not indicative of the effectiveness of treatment. The radiology kills the cells that are dividing and prevents cells from producing daughter cells, so even if it’s still there, it could be like a dead star, just hanging out.
Sometimes you can see evidence of necrosis in the tumor. (I envisioned a kind of goopy mess that the body then needs to dispose of.) (Oh, I hope we get to see that!)
Technical Difficulties
One of the LINAC machines got stuck yesterday– mine. The little windows that open and close to shape the beam weren’t moving. The guys tried to fix them, but ended up moving me to the other machine. Too bad– the first room had better music. Everyone, including Dr. Radiology, thanked me for my patience– what, I was going to get mad that it took longer to administer the death rays? But it made me doubly curious about how the machine delivers treatment. I found this excellent Youtube video– this is cool to the nth degree.
Hello, Side Effects
There’s not much else to say here. Dr. Radiology wondered if I had begun using the anti-nausea meds. I told her that until the benefit of the meds outweighed the cost of their side effects, I would hold off. As long as it’s not interrupting nutrition and hydration, she said, firmly. (Excuse me while I nibble on some homemade raisin bread and butter. H/T to Nick for always-excellent yeasted baked goods.) (On Thursday, I told the nutritionist that I spend all day foraging for protein– after all, they are requiring me to injest the equivalent of a cow. A small one, she corrected me.)
I reported to Dr. Radiology that I’d been working in the garden when I realized I wasn’t going to be able to power through and finish some tasks. What did you do, she asked. I stopped, said I, the ever-obedient patient. <snort>
The Totally Coolest Thing
“Jen will come in to check your meds,” said Dr. Radiology. A few minutes later, a nurse burst in. Jen introduced herself and I heard Ruth exclaim. Turns out Jen was one of the night nurses who took care of Ruth when she was in the oncology ward eight years ago. The power of the night nurse is everlasting. Ruth was so sick, and in the hospital for so, so long– Jen was a ray of light in some of those very dark nights. It was a lovely reunion; Ruth got to share some about her life and Jen shed a bunch of happy tears. I did a screen capture of the Zoom call so Jen could go back to the 7th floor and share Ruth’s picture. “We just never get to see this,” Jen kept saying. “You have made my day. No, my month.” It was an awesome ending to an otherwise mundane day at the cancer center.
It’s Weird to Be Conscious of Every Little Thing
There’s a lot to do in the garden, but I need to ride my bike. Can I do both if I take time in between? If I am going to have heartburn and an upset digestive track, how do I counterbalance coping with that and eating? Am I chewing too fast? Leaving enough time for the esophagus to clear before swallowing again? I may want to eat X, but Y has more protein, so I guess I’ll eat Y. Oooh, Italian takeout — but I’d better avoid tomato sauce, and no garlic bread.
I feel like a cat who just wants to be left to her own devices but I am trying to be polite.
Chemo on Monday.
Thanks for reading.
Arrow image by The DigitalArtist from Pixabay