Radiation: Lucille's Last Round, or How I Changed into a Hairy Sasquatch

The past few weeks have been surreal. I've been feeling better and better. The trombone-playing earthworm in my armpit has now reduced itself to a piccolo. I can lay on my stomach to sleep again! Even the side effects of the tamoxifen are not as horrible as I was expecting. Instead of hot flashes, I tend to get hot spots. I'll wake up in the middle of the night with a sweaty foot, or sweaty quads. This morning it was my neck. I can deal with that! As for moodiness, my family would attest I am always moody, so what's new there?

To celebrate the nice weather and my body returning to normal, we've been getting out as a family -- most recently a trip to an apple orchard. (I promise Elijah had a better time than it appears! He's nailed that teenager-y "eh" look.) My work has returned with a vengeance as well -- lots of clients, several grants to write and file reports on, a Sunday "preaching" gig (wha???), and committees gearing up to do good work for the city. It's almost as if Lucille is gone for good.

But she has one more round of tricksy up her sleeve: radiation. Today I start 30 treatments -- five days a week for six weeks. Some of you may be wondering, "Why do you need radiation, Kristen? Didn't they remove all of that dastardly dame when they cut you open?"

Well, yes and no. Yes, they removed all obvious bits and bobs of Lucille. They removed the tumor and a clean margin around it. What they could not remove were any microscopic cells of Lucille that may have remained in the surrounding tissue. And if Lucille were to come back, she would set up camp around the same fire pit. Why dig another hole?

As you recall from a previous blog, I am guarding against the likelihood of a distant recurrence with tamoxifen. To treat the likelihood of a local recurrence, however, we have to use radiation. My radiation oncologist (another really nice doctor -- I so lucked out!) explains it in terms of numbers. Lucille is a scattered and broken army outside of the breast. Tamoxifen is all I need to root her out from distant outposts. But at the tumor site, she's most powerful (think Mordor, people). Tamoxifen alone won't conquer her for good. We have to send in Frodo with his super x-ray powers. Okay, that wasn't in the book, but you get the idea.

Coming up to radiation, I've noticed myself saying to friends and family, "Oh, it's just radiation, it should be fine." That comment, of course, is born out of the fact that I did not need chemo. (Let's face it, you'd have to be a little crazy to prefer chemo to radiation.) But a great church friend, who herself did both treatments, reminded me to continue being gentle on myself. Radiation may be better than chemo, but it's still a TREATMENT, and it still carries some unpleasant side effects. Those darlings include: fatigue (most reported side effect from everyone I've talked to), itchy skin, flakiness, skin darkening and for an unfortunate 5% of patients -- broken, weepy sores. They carefully watch your skin for any changes as you progress, so I've been promised good intervention if anything gets hairy. And speaking of hairy, I cannot shave under that armpit for the entire duration, nor wear anything but "natural" deodorant. You may want to talk to me on the left until Thanksgiving.

So I'd be lying if I said I was not nervous about radiation starting today. Yes, it's just radiation, but it's a final reminder that cancer is one tough nut to crack. It's hard to feel so good right now, and know that I am willingly making myself feel bad again-- all in the name of ridding this thing from my body for good.

Then I look at the picture from the orchard, and I remember the real reason I'm doing all of this. Mom/Wife is needed. Mom/Wife is loved. Mom/Wife is ready to be back in the game! (But be gentle on me for the next six weeks, okay?)

Posted with Blogsy