April 30, 2021
I’ll admit it: I’m in a good mood. I’m not nauseous, or cross-eyed with fatigue. I’m not dizzy, hungry, worried, or sad. I’m mostly just a kid with lung cancer who’s having a not-too-shabby day. Not that everything is perfect– I am working, after all, even if it’s very part-time, and there are some challenges <sigh>. And, I ‘m walking around half-blind with some old glasses while I’m waiting for a repair to the pair with my most recent prescription. Still, please excuse me if I shout:
I HAVE ONLY EIGHT MORE RADIATION TREATMENTS TO GO. Eight! 8!
And only TWO more chemo treatments to go!
I have been very, very, very, very, very lucky to have had such a [knock on wood] relatively easy time of things. Yes, I am marching to the beat of anti-nausea medicine– literally– the alarm on my phone goes off several times a day to tell me when to take it, thank you very much. But I have not yet needed other medicine to numb my throat so I can swallow some food. And this, my friends, this is just lovely, wonderful news. Because I am very clear, this could be SO. MUCH. WORSE.
Have I mentioned I have just eight more radiation treatments to go? And two more chemo infusions?
Ruth asked Dr. Radiology today if someone should be driving me to treatments at this point, given the cumulative effects of the radiation. “Very good question,” Dr. Radiology said. “I think it would be wise to have a plan.” Apparently, in the span of a moment of accumulation, you can feel like a wall has fallen on top of you. And, as apparently, this is not conducive to driving. She mentioned a cab and was about to list some other ideas when my lovely family gently motioned for her to bug off, that they would have this well in hand.
I believe the wall-falling-on-you-thing. Yesterday (I think)– I woke up feeling a form of exhaustion resembling jet-lag. I shelved any thoughts of a Peloton session and went for a walk with mom instead. We got home, I jumped onto a quick Zoom call, and afterwards realized if I didn’t lie down I would fall down. That was the soundest hour of sleep I have ever had.
Apparently, I was fine enough to inspire a little goofing around with the radiology nerds. There are always at least two who set me up on the table, calibrate all the measurements, etc. I was waiting for them to be ready for me to climb on board when I tilted my head to hear the music. “What is that?” I asked Dean. “That music?” he asked. I nodded. “It sounds like…tell me that isn’t Barry Manilow….” He burst out laughing. “I could play that if you want,” he offered. I refused his kind offer. The typical procedures unfolded; as usual, they came back in the room, all cheery about the session being over. And then, just when I realized they were smirking something fierce, the rhythms of Barry Manilow’s great hit, Copa Cabana, came pounding over the loud speaker. Her name was Lola, she was a show girl….
Today, two women who were new to me treated me. They told me they usually work with the really fancy new piece of x-ray technology– the only one of its kind in the Pacific Northwest– but it was so crazy busy there they were lending a hand to help catch up. (It’s funny– even though it was busy, it is always very mellow and unhospital-like, with mauve furniture and deep green carpeting, people strolling around as if they were in a spa….It’s strange.) The women set me up and just as they were preparing to leave the room, they checked to see if the music would be OK. Guess who came over the speakers? Yep, good ole’ Barry. One of the guys had told them I would love it– we all had a giggle over his joke on us. No– they didn’t make me listen to it for 20 minutes, thank goodness. And I won’t make you either.
Thanks for reading and rooting for me. It means so much….