Radiation: Complete

That's done!

I saw one of the residents after my last radiation treatment, and several times, he noted I've had 20 treatments, "so far". Each time, I corrected him - I've had twenty treatments, and I'm DONE. The distinction didn't seem to matter to him, not that that matters. I understand it.

I showed up. Yay, me! 

I quickly figured out, if I did yoga after a session, I could mostly loosen up what the radiation tightened up, so I mentally created a required part B to each treatment day and headed to the gym after I got zapped. My strategy worked - I lost very little range of motion over the course of treatments; no small gift.

Much of my frustration these past few weeks has been the tendency of the treatment team to treat only the front right quadrant of my chest - the part of me getting radiated. Unfortunately for me, my distrust of the process, and my many questions, I never did figure out how to bring only that piece of me to the clinic. The rest of me insisted on trailing along.

Last night, as I was trying to get to sleep, I found myself replaying conversations I'd had with the treatment team, trying to figure out how I could have worded things differently to convince them to listen to me; to treat my questions about my fears and my not-in-the-book side effects with respect and compassion, rather than indifferently dismissing them. After a fruitless thirty minutes, I finally convinced my brain that what is past, is past. To let it rest and move on. Not all problems are me problems. Not all issues need to be resolved.

I've not been surprised at the myriad emotions which have bubbled up since I loudly and fiercely rang the bell after completing my last session on Wednesday. In order to get myself to go each day, I'd kept a pretty tight lid on them. 

Relief, first and foremost. Now, I can begin to heal. Relief was followed quickly by sadness, grief, even; so many reasons. Gratitude for the chance I have been given to have more good days. 

My physical body is confused and angry, I don't understand why I did this to me. I feel tired; this one I understand all too well. The Universe has noted my fatigue, and I was gratified last week when several of my friends reached out to let me know, unless I said it should not be delivered, dinner would show up at my door this coming week.

My mama didn't raise no fool, so I told them, "Yes, please, and thank you!"

I found the radiation room to be a lonely place. I am grateful for the not-so-gentle reminder that I do not walk this road alone. 

My people care.

Family Reunion

Perhaps, if I had checked with my medical team, they'd have advised me not to spend fourteen hours traveling to the family reunion this past weekend, but I decided what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and off I went.

The trip had been arranged months ago - before I found out radiation would be delayed. Cancer has messed up enough of my summer that I didn't really even consider not making the 6-1/2 hour drive. Some lunches are important!

I did concede it, perhaps, wasn't wise to attempt doing the actual driving part myself, especially since the reunion was Sunday, and I had to be back in town early Monday morning for my next radiation treatment, which means I couldn't break it into stages.

Several weeks ago, as I was mulling over the list of people I thought I could ask to drive up with me, I happened to mention my predicament to my friend, Rhonda, from yoga class. I quickly discovered she's the sort of person who is willing to take a chance that an all expense paid, 36 hour trip to Decorah, Iowa, for lunch might actually be fun. I guess she couldn't resist the opportunity to choose anything she'd like from the extensive menus at Subway and Starbucks??

Unlike me, she actually likes the part where she sits behind the wheel guiding the car along the road; turns out she's a good driver. I enjoyed the hours we had to learn more about each other's lives - it's been decades since I took a road trip with someone whose stories I wasn't already familiar with.

I am so grateful for her assistance. We left Saturday morning in time to join my brother, Tony, and his wife, Susan, for a delicious hamburger and sweet corn dinner in Waterloo, where we also spent the night.

Sunday morning, we got up bright and early to drive on up the road to my cousin's house in Decorah, where the family was to gather for a potluck lunch. We had a good turnout, and I enjoyed spending the next few hours swapping what's-up-with-your-life stories with those gathered. 

Bonus, lunch was amazing. The older I get, the more I appreciate the chance to enjoy two big bites of most of the offerings at a good potluck. (Even limiting myself to two bites, and filling my plate twice, my stomach, sadly, didn't have enough room to sample all the deliciousness. *sigh*)

We got back on the road shortly after 2, talked our way back across Iowa and northern Missouri, and arrived home around 8:30. I slept pretty well, and while I am tired today, I am also content. Given the way radiation has been zapping my energy, if I hadn't gone, I'd have been tired anyways, AND I would have missed all the fun!

I figure I win when I don't give cancer more of my precious time than I must - and this weekend definitely counts as a win in my book!

Better Words

The veneer of 'OK' I wear in order to face the world is wearing thin these days. Radiation has been HARD!

These past two weeks, I can't easily get myself out of bed. I wake, then roll over and press my head into the mattress, futilely hoping it's not actually morning. I check in with my body, which curls up on itself. It doesn't understand what happens in the radiation room, but it knows it doesn't like it. 

It tells me, "Please don't squish my head again today. Please? Please? Please?" 

I give me a nod of sympathy, and tell myself, "Suck it up, Buttercup! Not going is not an option."

Then I roll out of bed.

It doesn't feel good. Not the getting up, not the radiation which follows. Not the sucking it up. 

I do it, but.

This past week, when I saw my onco-psychologist, who has been a helpful navigator as I negotiate the twists of this cancer recurrence path I'm on, I told him what I've been doing, then asked him if he would be willing to help me find better words. 

He readily agreed to help me brainstorm; said my current word choice, though effective, lacks compassion. My body is right. The radiation is part of my best chance of keeping my cancer gone for a time, but it is not kind to me. 

We spent the rest of Thursday's session working to find those better words. He is good at what he does, so when this morning rolled around, I was able to tell me:

"This is NOT OK. 

AND 

I want to have more good days, like [yesterday morning]* when [I got to spend time with my family on a lovely pontoon boat ride at Lake Jacomo]*. 

Both are true."

*[fill in these blanks each day with a good memory]

Then I gave little Buttercup a metaphorical kiss on the top of her head, and helped her to sit up and start her day.

Getting up was SO much easier.

Showing Up

This morning was a tough sell. My last radiation session last week did not go well. 

I was working with a new set of techs, and the lead person didn't care what I wanted. She ran the session the way she always did, my request for warning whether I needed to hold a breath for three seconds or thirty, ignored.

The resulting hyperventilation reactivated my dizziness. To add injury to insult, the crew didn't properly align my shoulder on the table; by the time I finished it was cramping and locked out of alignment. 

Fortunately, the long weekend allowed me time to stretch and exercise my upper right side back into place. The additional time also let my head heal up - by last night, the horizon had quit shifting on me. It was stable for the first time in two weeks.

I did NOT want to go back in and mess it all up again. 

But since I didn't let Libby quit in the middle of her tough chemo treatments, I could hardly look myself in the mirror if I bailed on the comparatively mild side effects of my radiation treatments thus far.

So, I showed up.

To my pleasant surprise, when I was called back for my session, it was Lynsey doing the calling - she's on what I've come to think of my A-Team. She and Natalie listen. They are quick, careful and compassionate. My apprehension level quickly eased. I was quickly strapped into place and treatment started.

Then. 

About halfway through the session, my meditation music suddenly stopped. 'What??' I recognized the strains of the song replacing the quiet tones - the Eagles, Hotel California.

Welcome to the Hotel California
It could be heaven, and it could be hell.

And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man, "We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave"

'Really??? Of all the songs in the world, someone picks THIS one?' I started laughing.

The song lasted for the rest of the session - when Lynsey came back in, I asked her why the switch. She apologized, said they hadn't touched a thing, but that sometimes Pandora, the streaming service, has a mind of its own.

Clearly, the Universe has not misplaced their sense of irony.