Fried Chicken

Baked potato, fried chicken, Baked Alaska...what do all these things have in common?

If you guessed the foods Kristen has picked for her last dinner on the planet, you'd be wrong (well, except for the fried chicken...that is definitely on my meal ticket).

No, these are all ways I've described how my skin was feeling at the end of last week.  Up until then, my skin had been holding up really well, but suddenly I was turning very red in an area I really didn't want to be turning red. (Think marathon runners, surfers, new breast-feeding moms -- you get the picture, right?)

The cause was simple.  Because my tumor was so shallow, the radiation oncologist ordered the use of a bolus on my skin when I receive radiation.  The bolus itself looks and feels like a washcloth folded three times and is draped across my -- well, see above.  The effect of the bolus is that it draws the radiation closer to the skin's surface.  Therefore, the skin in that area is receiving more of the radiation.  The doctor considered removing it due to the increased redness, but decided to keep it on to ensure no cancer cells would remain in that area. To be honest, I didn't want to cut corners if it was needed...so, full steam ahead.

Luckily, I found a way to manage the symptoms.  I had tried every tincture and ointment to tame the burn, including Aquaphor, aloe gel, Miaderm cream, hydrocortisone, and even an antibiotic (the doctor thought an underlying infection could have been to blame), but nothing really worked. In desperation, I used a gel-cream combo given to me by someone at church (go Melba!) whose relative swore by it.  It was heavenly.  I'm still sensitive and a little sore, but not rolling up in a ball of hurt like last week.

A few more updates:

My energy level is good.  Saturdays, especially, I feel really great.  Just don't try to have a conversation with me after 9:00 pm.  It won't make any sense.

Yes, I have turned into a hairy Sasquatch on one side, or as the more sophisticated among us like to call it, my European side.  And, nothing against Tom's of Maine, but I don't think Tom and his cohorts have experienced sweat like we have it here in the southerly climes. I won't miss my all-natural deodorant when this is over. 

I have 10 more treatments to go, then I'm done.  I'm trying to plan a big way to celebrate.  

And finally...we have been treated like royalty with all the meals brought in the last few weeks. We are so very blessed to have such wonderful neighbors, friends and church members to take care of us.     

Just a little glad we haven't seen any fried chicken come through the door...

Getting Radiation is so Totally...Mental!

11 down and 19 to go...

It's just souped up x-rays, right?...

At least I didn't have chemo...

Thank goodness I don't have to drive to Columbia every day. Now THAT would stink...

This cream is *magic* cream. I'll just smear it on. No burns for me, no sir...

And on and on go the mental games. I think if you asked a group of cancer patients what it's like to do battle with the dreaded C, both during treatment and the years after, most would tell you that it is a mental fight as much as a physical one. Because the treatment for cancer lasts so long (I'll be hitting three months exactly from diagnosis date to end of radiation; for whose who have chemo, herceptin, or other adjunctive therapies, add another 3-12 months), I've come against the "I'm-so-over-this" wall many times. Heading off to radiation on your daughter's birthday is not fun nor welcome.

Also, it's not unusual for the circle of support to suffer compassion fatique. You get lots of calls up to and around the date of surgery, but the check-ins peter out during "rad" time, and everyone's lives move on while you're still checking in at the hospital desk. (Every day. At 1:30. They don't ask for my name anymore. Yep.)

Then there is the radiation itself. I have to be honest, radiation freaks me out a little bit. It's invisible, but you know it's killing cells -- good and bad. My skin is still intact and normal-looking, but I have small bouts of fatique that make raising newborns seem easy-peasy, and all my surgery sites zing and ache again. I learned about the interior soreness the hard way when a slight readjustment in the bed one night sent a shock wave of pain throughout my armpit. (Or, maybe I should not have moved that dresser earlier in the day...no one told me I couldn't do heavy lifting yet!)

The radiation experience itself is so isolating. You lay on an elevated bed under a huge energy-spitting machine while everyone runs out of the room and hides behind a lead door. "Oldies" play in the background. I compare the whole experience to what it would be like to be probed by aliens with their invisible death rays while they play music they think is comforting to you. "Duke of Earl" will forever be a creepy song to me.

But, I tell myself:

It gets a little less creepy every time...

I am 11 days through...

I am most definitely going to be able to lift heavy dressers some day...

And best of all, I won't have to get zapped on my birthday at least.

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