I am.
Showing posts with label radiation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label radiation. Show all posts
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
T Minus Two
Just two radiation treatments left. I'm so very, very pleased. To celebrate the end of my morning radiation routine, I'm thinking I might force Frank to change our routine this Friday and have him take me and Maggie out for breakfast on Friday (Maggie has no school).
Speaking of Maggie, she is doing a great good thing and having her head shaved in support of the St. Baldricks fundraising event for childhood cancer research. You can see a pre-shave pic of her here. She's part of a team for her middle school, and they'll all get their heads shaved on St. Patrick's Day (next Monday). I'll post a pic of her new "look" after that.
Meanwhile, I am so looking forward to seeing Emily next Friday night. Her last final is at 4 p.m. that day (what a sadistic professor, to give a final mere minutes before Spring Break), and I've promised her a lovely dinner with her mother as a reward. The next day, we'll meet Robert in San Luis Obispo for our 24 hours of fun (San Simeon, Madonna Inn, mad hijinks...) Of course, I only realized this week that the Sunday is Easter. We typically have friends over for a feast on that day, but Em and I won't be rolling in to the Bay Area until about 2 p.m., so this year Easter will be a bit more lowkey than usual.
Speaking of Maggie, she is doing a great good thing and having her head shaved in support of the St. Baldricks fundraising event for childhood cancer research. You can see a pre-shave pic of her here. She's part of a team for her middle school, and they'll all get their heads shaved on St. Patrick's Day (next Monday). I'll post a pic of her new "look" after that.
Meanwhile, I am so looking forward to seeing Emily next Friday night. Her last final is at 4 p.m. that day (what a sadistic professor, to give a final mere minutes before Spring Break), and I've promised her a lovely dinner with her mother as a reward. The next day, we'll meet Robert in San Luis Obispo for our 24 hours of fun (San Simeon, Madonna Inn, mad hijinks...) Of course, I only realized this week that the Sunday is Easter. We typically have friends over for a feast on that day, but Em and I won't be rolling in to the Bay Area until about 2 p.m., so this year Easter will be a bit more lowkey than usual.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Give Me a Boost
Today was the first of seven "boost" radiation treatments. My routine (check-in, changing into a hospital gown, assuming the position on the bed in the radiation room) was the same, but they had added an attachment to the linear accelerator. The lead alloy plate they made for me was at the end of the attachment, and they lined it up with the drawing they made on my left breast over a week ago. They left the room and zapped me for 30 to 40 seconds and then, ta da! I was done.
As we near the end of it, I have to say this whole radiation regimen hasn't been too onerous, actually. But I am looking forward to just waking up in the morning, having breakfast with Frank and Maggie, getting dressed, and then going right into work. And that day will be next Friday, March 14. Yay!!!
And now, with the end in sight, I'm thinking I won't be needing to update this blog so regularly. During this ordeal, I've been trying to update the blog on a weekly basis, but after I finish radiation next week, there won't be much of anything to report. Well, other than how much I'm enjoying my family, friends, neighbors, job, etc.
In the next few months, I'll be taking some trips for fun and will have some follow-up visits for the breast cancer, and I'll be posting after those occurrences. So, if you have a burning desire to follow my life, you might want to check this site on a monthly basis, rather than weekly, after next week.
And to those of you who will be happy to move on, thank you for keeping me company during the past seven months. It's been so comforting--in the truest sense of the word--to know that people were thinking about me and caring about me. I continue to be enormously grateful to have the life that I have. It's a wonderful and wondrous thing.
Thank you.
As we near the end of it, I have to say this whole radiation regimen hasn't been too onerous, actually. But I am looking forward to just waking up in the morning, having breakfast with Frank and Maggie, getting dressed, and then going right into work. And that day will be next Friday, March 14. Yay!!!
And now, with the end in sight, I'm thinking I won't be needing to update this blog so regularly. During this ordeal, I've been trying to update the blog on a weekly basis, but after I finish radiation next week, there won't be much of anything to report. Well, other than how much I'm enjoying my family, friends, neighbors, job, etc.
In the next few months, I'll be taking some trips for fun and will have some follow-up visits for the breast cancer, and I'll be posting after those occurrences. So, if you have a burning desire to follow my life, you might want to check this site on a monthly basis, rather than weekly, after next week.
And to those of you who will be happy to move on, thank you for keeping me company during the past seven months. It's been so comforting--in the truest sense of the word--to know that people were thinking about me and caring about me. I continue to be enormously grateful to have the life that I have. It's a wonderful and wondrous thing.
Thank you.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Radiation 201
The whole brouhaha about the MRI and the (rather unattractively named) fat necrosis coincided with most of my radiation treatment, so I've not had an opportunity to share all the wonderful things I'm learning about this part of the process. There's a lot of detail here, so I hope I don't bore anyone, but I find this stuff fascinating.
First: I'm down to 10 remaining treatments (out of a total of 35), and it's all gone pretty swimmingly. Yay! Now for the details.
Each weekday morning, I arrive at the cancer center and check-in at the radiation department for my 8:30 appointment. Check-in is so well done, I feel the need to describe it. :-) You just walk up to the reception window and there's a flat screen PC monitor there. Touch it and the list of appointments appears. Touch the row with your name and appointed time (I am "Karen Z") and then touch the "Check-in" button at the bottom of the screen. There. Now the folks in the radiation rooms know you're there and will be available shortly.
After I'm checked in, I walk through a door into the "Gowned waiting area" (that's actually the sign outside the door) and go into a dressing room. I disrobe from the waist up and put on a gown, put my things in a little wooden "locker", and go sit in a chair for a couple minutes.
One of the technicians escorts me to one of the two radiation rooms, which are so, so cool. All sorts of radiation goes on here, for all sorts of cancers.
When they are planning radiation treatment, they put little pin dot tattoos on the affected area. These tattoos are used in conjunction with the many (six? seven?) lasers in the radiation room to line you up the same way every day, so they can be confident they're treating the correct area. In addition to the tattoos and lasers, they also employ other tools to make sure they can line you up with the totally groovy linear accelerator that delivers the radiation. For people with pelvic and abominal cancers, there are custom-fitted foam forms: they put the foam form on the bed/platform and the patient lies down on it. Since it's molded around *your* body, it helps you to lie down in the position they want. For brain and other head/neck cancers, they have these mesh "cages" that fit around the head and shoulders. These cages also provide a grid that enables them to align things with the lasers.
For breast cancer, you lie down on a slightly inclined "board" that raises your shoulders a couple inches above your hips. You bare the breast to be treated, raise the arm on the affected side (my left arm) and rest the arm in some holders that look a lot like the stirrups you rest your legs in when getting a pap smear. They are able to move the bed/platform in very small increments to line up the tattoos with the lasers. They also sometimes use the sheet I'm lying on to move me just the eensiest amount.
When I'm all lined up and everything is calibrated, the linear accelerator (or as I've come to think of it, the "zapper") is positioned over my left shoulder (where the affected lymph nodes were). They leave the room (can you imagine how much radiation they'd experience if they stayed in the room? <shudder>) When they zap me, it's not so much for an amount of time as it is for a dose (of radiation), but the dose typically takes about 30 seconds to administer to the area where the cancer infected the lymph nodes. Then, the technicians (really wonderful, friendly people, btw) come back into the room, adjust me the slightest bit, and reposition the zapper so it's on my right side, pointing at the left breast. They leave again and my left breast gets zapped from the right side for about 20 to 25 seconds. We repeat all this for one more zap on the left side (where the tumor was), which also lasts for about 20 to 25 seconds.
When we're all done, they tell me I can lower my arm, and I go slather aloe all over the area, get dressed, and go to work.
I've got just three more of these types of treatment and then I have seven "boost" radiation treatments. For those treatments, they created a special lead plate that enables them to direct radiation to just the tumor site on my left side.
Now, you might wonder, with all this special radioactive attention, if there are any side effects? Well, lethargy can be a side effect, but given that we were able to avoid my lungs in the treatment, I'm not really experiencing any tiredness. But. Even though I use copious amounts of aloe, and Aquaphor (TM), and olive oil cream, a person can't be given what is, essentially, a sunburn everyday without some skin issues. The area where my neck meets my shoulder on the left side is pretty sunburned. It is dry and itchy and it looks very red and angry. The breast is a little red, but mostly okay, so far. And as I said, just three more of these treatments (with a two day break this weekend) and then my neck can recover.
And there you go.
When radiation is done, the plan is: see Dr. Kuan at the end of March for a check-up and some blood work (to ensure everything is returning to normal). Assuming everything is groovy, I'll wait until mid-May for another check-up and blood check (and port flush--I still have the port and we need to ensure it's not clogged, so they need to "flush" it with saline every four to six weeks). In June, I'll have a CT scan to (hopefully) verify that there is no cancer in my body. In July, I'll have a bilateral mammogram, and if that, too, looks good, I can finally have the port removed. (It's a drag to remove it only to have to put it back in, should a person need more chemo.)
And there you go.
First: I'm down to 10 remaining treatments (out of a total of 35), and it's all gone pretty swimmingly. Yay! Now for the details.
Each weekday morning, I arrive at the cancer center and check-in at the radiation department for my 8:30 appointment. Check-in is so well done, I feel the need to describe it. :-) You just walk up to the reception window and there's a flat screen PC monitor there. Touch it and the list of appointments appears. Touch the row with your name and appointed time (I am "Karen Z") and then touch the "Check-in" button at the bottom of the screen. There. Now the folks in the radiation rooms know you're there and will be available shortly.
After I'm checked in, I walk through a door into the "Gowned waiting area" (that's actually the sign outside the door) and go into a dressing room. I disrobe from the waist up and put on a gown, put my things in a little wooden "locker", and go sit in a chair for a couple minutes.
One of the technicians escorts me to one of the two radiation rooms, which are so, so cool. All sorts of radiation goes on here, for all sorts of cancers.
When they are planning radiation treatment, they put little pin dot tattoos on the affected area. These tattoos are used in conjunction with the many (six? seven?) lasers in the radiation room to line you up the same way every day, so they can be confident they're treating the correct area. In addition to the tattoos and lasers, they also employ other tools to make sure they can line you up with the totally groovy linear accelerator that delivers the radiation. For people with pelvic and abominal cancers, there are custom-fitted foam forms: they put the foam form on the bed/platform and the patient lies down on it. Since it's molded around *your* body, it helps you to lie down in the position they want. For brain and other head/neck cancers, they have these mesh "cages" that fit around the head and shoulders. These cages also provide a grid that enables them to align things with the lasers.
For breast cancer, you lie down on a slightly inclined "board" that raises your shoulders a couple inches above your hips. You bare the breast to be treated, raise the arm on the affected side (my left arm) and rest the arm in some holders that look a lot like the stirrups you rest your legs in when getting a pap smear. They are able to move the bed/platform in very small increments to line up the tattoos with the lasers. They also sometimes use the sheet I'm lying on to move me just the eensiest amount.
When I'm all lined up and everything is calibrated, the linear accelerator (or as I've come to think of it, the "zapper") is positioned over my left shoulder (where the affected lymph nodes were). They leave the room (can you imagine how much radiation they'd experience if they stayed in the room? <shudder>) When they zap me, it's not so much for an amount of time as it is for a dose (of radiation), but the dose typically takes about 30 seconds to administer to the area where the cancer infected the lymph nodes. Then, the technicians (really wonderful, friendly people, btw) come back into the room, adjust me the slightest bit, and reposition the zapper so it's on my right side, pointing at the left breast. They leave again and my left breast gets zapped from the right side for about 20 to 25 seconds. We repeat all this for one more zap on the left side (where the tumor was), which also lasts for about 20 to 25 seconds.
When we're all done, they tell me I can lower my arm, and I go slather aloe all over the area, get dressed, and go to work.
I've got just three more of these types of treatment and then I have seven "boost" radiation treatments. For those treatments, they created a special lead plate that enables them to direct radiation to just the tumor site on my left side.
Now, you might wonder, with all this special radioactive attention, if there are any side effects? Well, lethargy can be a side effect, but given that we were able to avoid my lungs in the treatment, I'm not really experiencing any tiredness. But. Even though I use copious amounts of aloe, and Aquaphor (TM), and olive oil cream, a person can't be given what is, essentially, a sunburn everyday without some skin issues. The area where my neck meets my shoulder on the left side is pretty sunburned. It is dry and itchy and it looks very red and angry. The breast is a little red, but mostly okay, so far. And as I said, just three more of these treatments (with a two day break this weekend) and then my neck can recover.
And there you go.
When radiation is done, the plan is: see Dr. Kuan at the end of March for a check-up and some blood work (to ensure everything is returning to normal). Assuming everything is groovy, I'll wait until mid-May for another check-up and blood check (and port flush--I still have the port and we need to ensure it's not clogged, so they need to "flush" it with saline every four to six weeks). In June, I'll have a CT scan to (hopefully) verify that there is no cancer in my body. In July, I'll have a bilateral mammogram, and if that, too, looks good, I can finally have the port removed. (It's a drag to remove it only to have to put it back in, should a person need more chemo.)
And there you go.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Make Me Wanna Holler
To recap: My oncologist felt something hard in my left breast (the one currently being treated with radiation everyday for breast cancer) on January 15. I had an inconclusive ultrasound last Friday, January 25. The doctor on staff at the imaging center left a message for Dr. Kuan, recommending an MRI.
On Monday, my oncologist's nurse tried to get the authorization in for the MRI, but was told that my surgeon had to request the authorization. Why? I don't know why. But she was attentive to my needs and tried to pass it on to the surgeon's office and have them get the authorization.
Someone in that office told her that I needed to come in to the office before they could do that. I was somewhat outraged by that and called the surgeon's office, explaining that I had been in to see Dr. Broderick-Villa for a follow-up in December and I didn't see the point coming in to see them just to have them say, "okay, we'll request this authorization." Dr. Broderick called back that afternoon/evening and expressed his total agreement. He was very nice and said he'd get the request to the scheduler the next day (Tuesday).
Tuesday came and went.
At the end of yesterday (Wednesday), I called the surgeon's office and asked to speak to the scheduler. She didn't expressly state it, but it sounded like she did not get the request sent to Alta Bates Medical Group (my gatekeeper for Blue Shield) until that day (Wednesday). Furthermore, she said it typically takes ABMG 15 to 20 days (!) to approve MRIs. I expressed my surprise and she said that everything changed last summer and it just takes a really long time. And if they (the surgeon's office) mark it as urgent, to try to speed up the process, it gets stuck at the bottom of the pile and takes even longer.
Out of frustration, I called Blue Shield. I expressed my dismay and the woman agreed that, indeed, 15 to 20 days was an egregiously long time. She very nicely gave me the number to file a grievance, and suggested I talk to ABMG, to verify that they could/would/might take that long.
When I get this mad and/or frustrated, I cry. It's how I'm made and I don't like it, but there it is. So, weepy and mad, I called ABMG. The woman there was very nice (*you* try being mean to a woman with breast cancer who is crying at you on the phone--I dare you) and, while she wouldn't say it never taken that long, that was the exception and she would expect that, given my history, etc. I should have approval in three to five days. She told me that the request was not yet in the system and that I should call back the next day (today) to ensure that they had received the request.
And here we are. I called ABMG today and was told that the request was entered in to the system at 1:45 p.m. today. This is four days after the ultrasound, mind you. <sigh>. The kindly gentleman told me it could take up to five to seven business days for approval. (And then we get to try to schedule something. I wonder how long *that* will take?)
If I don't hear by Wednesday of next week, I'm calling to see where it is. And then, depending on how angry I am, I'll call Blue Shield or the surgeon's office or both. (I think the scheduler at the surgeon's office has too much to do, quite frankly. I think she could have turned this around a bit faster. Which is not to take any of the pressure off ABMG. But she really didn't need to scare me into thinking I wasn't getting an MRI for another month while obfuscating the fact that she had that request for a full day before she sent it in.) See how ticked off I am?
But honestly? For all you caring, wonderful people out there, who keep emailing me or trying to "not bother me" out of love and empathy--please know that for the most part, I'm somewhat Zen about this. It is what it is and I'll find out just what that is sooner or later (looking like later right now, isn't it?) And while I don't want to talk about this bit of the unknown, that doesn't mean I don't want to talk or that I'm fragile or anything. When we know something, be sure that I will let everyone know, right away.
In the meantime, life goes on and I have completed eight of 35 scheduled radiation treatments. Yay! I've written numbers 35 through 1 on my whiteboard at work and I'm crossing off each treatment. It's extremely gratifying. :-)
On Monday, my oncologist's nurse tried to get the authorization in for the MRI, but was told that my surgeon had to request the authorization. Why? I don't know why. But she was attentive to my needs and tried to pass it on to the surgeon's office and have them get the authorization.
Someone in that office told her that I needed to come in to the office before they could do that. I was somewhat outraged by that and called the surgeon's office, explaining that I had been in to see Dr. Broderick-Villa for a follow-up in December and I didn't see the point coming in to see them just to have them say, "okay, we'll request this authorization." Dr. Broderick called back that afternoon/evening and expressed his total agreement. He was very nice and said he'd get the request to the scheduler the next day (Tuesday).
Tuesday came and went.
At the end of yesterday (Wednesday), I called the surgeon's office and asked to speak to the scheduler. She didn't expressly state it, but it sounded like she did not get the request sent to Alta Bates Medical Group (my gatekeeper for Blue Shield) until that day (Wednesday). Furthermore, she said it typically takes ABMG 15 to 20 days (!) to approve MRIs. I expressed my surprise and she said that everything changed last summer and it just takes a really long time. And if they (the surgeon's office) mark it as urgent, to try to speed up the process, it gets stuck at the bottom of the pile and takes even longer.
Out of frustration, I called Blue Shield. I expressed my dismay and the woman agreed that, indeed, 15 to 20 days was an egregiously long time. She very nicely gave me the number to file a grievance, and suggested I talk to ABMG, to verify that they could/would/might take that long.
When I get this mad and/or frustrated, I cry. It's how I'm made and I don't like it, but there it is. So, weepy and mad, I called ABMG. The woman there was very nice (*you* try being mean to a woman with breast cancer who is crying at you on the phone--I dare you) and, while she wouldn't say it never taken that long, that was the exception and she would expect that, given my history, etc. I should have approval in three to five days. She told me that the request was not yet in the system and that I should call back the next day (today) to ensure that they had received the request.
And here we are. I called ABMG today and was told that the request was entered in to the system at 1:45 p.m. today. This is four days after the ultrasound, mind you. <sigh>. The kindly gentleman told me it could take up to five to seven business days for approval. (And then we get to try to schedule something. I wonder how long *that* will take?)
If I don't hear by Wednesday of next week, I'm calling to see where it is. And then, depending on how angry I am, I'll call Blue Shield or the surgeon's office or both. (I think the scheduler at the surgeon's office has too much to do, quite frankly. I think she could have turned this around a bit faster. Which is not to take any of the pressure off ABMG. But she really didn't need to scare me into thinking I wasn't getting an MRI for another month while obfuscating the fact that she had that request for a full day before she sent it in.) See how ticked off I am?
But honestly? For all you caring, wonderful people out there, who keep emailing me or trying to "not bother me" out of love and empathy--please know that for the most part, I'm somewhat Zen about this. It is what it is and I'll find out just what that is sooner or later (looking like later right now, isn't it?) And while I don't want to talk about this bit of the unknown, that doesn't mean I don't want to talk or that I'm fragile or anything. When we know something, be sure that I will let everyone know, right away.
In the meantime, life goes on and I have completed eight of 35 scheduled radiation treatments. Yay! I've written numbers 35 through 1 on my whiteboard at work and I'm crossing off each treatment. It's extremely gratifying. :-)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
An Eventful Week
It's been a very busy four days (in a good way).
On Friday, I had my radiation simulation. They did CT scans a week or two ago so that Dr. Champion could plan my treatment. Then on Friday, the radiation "therapists" (I tend to think of them more as "technicians", but if they need to call themselves "therapists", who am I to argue?) took x-rays to verify that the plans made based on the CT scans were appropriate. And they were.
Not only is my heart completely out of scope for the radiation treatment, but my lungs are only about 1 to 1.5 centimeters in range. The therapist was trying to tell me--without sounding weird about it--that I have a good build for this. Of course, that is good news, but what a strange thing to have a good build for, don't you think?
They also gave me a schedule of all my radiation appointments. I had my first of 35 treatments today. I'll go everyday (4:30 p.m. today, Wednesday, and Thursday, and 8:30 a.m. each day thereafter) for about 30 minutes.
I checked myself in today, changed into the gown, and waited for the therapist to come get me. Then Joel and (Andrew?) lined me up to match the photos and tattoo matrices (I have three pin dot tattoos surrounding the area), and then they zapped me three times: first was the lymph node area, then the left side of the breast and then the right side. And I was done. One down, 34 to go. :-)
This weekend Maggie and I had a really wonderful time with some really wonderful people. Deirdre Bauer and I drove up to North Lake Tahoe on Friday afternoon with Maggie and Celia. Carla and Deirdre Greene joined us Saturday with Siobhan and Lila. It was a little late to start skiing, so we went to some hot springs just beyond Carson City, where we all sat in the very warm, pleasantly smelly water (about 105 degrees Fahrenheit). That night, after dinner, I got a bit tipsy for the first time since August.
The next day, the girls all went skiing/boarding (after a lesson for each--three on snowboard and Siobhan on skis) and the moms went for a walk near the lake and ended up in the bar at the Hyatt (who could have foreseen *that*?). After dinner, the girls went to see 27 Dresses and Carla taught us how to play Bridge (and more wine was drunk).
Coming home was a bit eventful: the battery on the Mercedes took issue with the 22 degree external temperature, and this is why we pay for AAA each year. Deirdre Greene and I enjoyed an eight hour drive home yesterday, but we were fairly Zen about it. It was easy to be Zen when Carla had all four of the 13-year old girls in her car. I'd say that Carla has some serious karma in her favor right now.
On Friday, I had my radiation simulation. They did CT scans a week or two ago so that Dr. Champion could plan my treatment. Then on Friday, the radiation "therapists" (I tend to think of them more as "technicians", but if they need to call themselves "therapists", who am I to argue?) took x-rays to verify that the plans made based on the CT scans were appropriate. And they were.
Not only is my heart completely out of scope for the radiation treatment, but my lungs are only about 1 to 1.5 centimeters in range. The therapist was trying to tell me--without sounding weird about it--that I have a good build for this. Of course, that is good news, but what a strange thing to have a good build for, don't you think?
They also gave me a schedule of all my radiation appointments. I had my first of 35 treatments today. I'll go everyday (4:30 p.m. today, Wednesday, and Thursday, and 8:30 a.m. each day thereafter) for about 30 minutes.
I checked myself in today, changed into the gown, and waited for the therapist to come get me. Then Joel and (Andrew?) lined me up to match the photos and tattoo matrices (I have three pin dot tattoos surrounding the area), and then they zapped me three times: first was the lymph node area, then the left side of the breast and then the right side. And I was done. One down, 34 to go. :-)
This weekend Maggie and I had a really wonderful time with some really wonderful people. Deirdre Bauer and I drove up to North Lake Tahoe on Friday afternoon with Maggie and Celia. Carla and Deirdre Greene joined us Saturday with Siobhan and Lila. It was a little late to start skiing, so we went to some hot springs just beyond Carson City, where we all sat in the very warm, pleasantly smelly water (about 105 degrees Fahrenheit). That night, after dinner, I got a bit tipsy for the first time since August.
The next day, the girls all went skiing/boarding (after a lesson for each--three on snowboard and Siobhan on skis) and the moms went for a walk near the lake and ended up in the bar at the Hyatt (who could have foreseen *that*?). After dinner, the girls went to see 27 Dresses and Carla taught us how to play Bridge (and more wine was drunk).
Coming home was a bit eventful: the battery on the Mercedes took issue with the 22 degree external temperature, and this is why we pay for AAA each year. Deirdre Greene and I enjoyed an eight hour drive home yesterday, but we were fairly Zen about it. It was easy to be Zen when Carla had all four of the 13-year old girls in her car. I'd say that Carla has some serious karma in her favor right now.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Le Sigh
Well, I went for my post chemo check-up with Dr. Kuan and she did what should have been a routine breast exam, just to make sure everything is okay. Unfortunately, there is something hard on my left breast, a bit beyond where scar tissue should be, closer to the nipple.
I told her that I experienced some pain in the area last night, and she's confused. Since the incision site itself is nice and soft, it's even more confusing. *Sigh* So. I'm having an ultrasound on the 25th (I know. Ten whole days. Can you even believe it?) to see if it's scar tissue (her best guess) or something else (which is why you do an ultrasound, right?)
More than anything else, I'm weary. I'm so very, very tired of this. And now, at what should be almost the end, we've got a "what is that" question. Well. There it is.
Meanwhile, still planning to start radiation. Got my "dress rehearsal" on Friday, and then I think I'm starting next Tuesday.
This weekend? Tahoe with Deirdre B, Deirdre G, Carla, and our daughters. I plan to drink. :-)
P.S. I genuinely appreciate the kind thoughts and words, but I'm not really up for talking about this right now. I'm frustrated and feeling a bit futile because I dont' have an action plan. I can't have an action plan--either way--until I know what's what. And I won't know that until the ultrasound. So, please, just try to bear with me until the 25th. And in the meantime, thanks for your patience.
I told her that I experienced some pain in the area last night, and she's confused. Since the incision site itself is nice and soft, it's even more confusing. *Sigh* So. I'm having an ultrasound on the 25th (I know. Ten whole days. Can you even believe it?) to see if it's scar tissue (her best guess) or something else (which is why you do an ultrasound, right?)
More than anything else, I'm weary. I'm so very, very tired of this. And now, at what should be almost the end, we've got a "what is that" question. Well. There it is.
Meanwhile, still planning to start radiation. Got my "dress rehearsal" on Friday, and then I think I'm starting next Tuesday.
This weekend? Tahoe with Deirdre B, Deirdre G, Carla, and our daughters. I plan to drink. :-)
P.S. I genuinely appreciate the kind thoughts and words, but I'm not really up for talking about this right now. I'm frustrated and feeling a bit futile because I dont' have an action plan. I can't have an action plan--either way--until I know what's what. And I won't know that until the ultrasound. So, please, just try to bear with me until the 25th. And in the meantime, thanks for your patience.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Radioactive
I had my radiation consult yesterday and I have my last chemo treatment today: this really is a week of milestones. (Yay!)
I met my radiation oncologist, Dr. Lorraine Champion, and liked her very much. ABCCC puts out a very good breast cancer treatment video and she's the narrator. (You can see her explanation of the radiation treatment here.)
They did a CT scan on me to assess how much heart and lung involvement there could potentially be in my radiation treatment. Basically, because the lungs are under the breasts, they can't totally avoid zapping them a bit, and this causes scar tissue (about 5% to 6%), which is not life-threatening. Of course, they'd prefer to avoid this with the heart, so the CT scan lets them know if they need to perform "respiratory gating". In this case, the patient has to fill the lungs, to push out the chest wall. Then, hopefully, the heart can be marginally protected. Of course, this means that you have to maintain this position during radiation and, um, can you say "kind of a drag"? Luckily, my heart is out of scope for radiation and I don't have to worry about this.
I have a simulation appointment on Friday, January 18, and then I should be starting treatment on Tuesday, January 22. Then I have 35 treatments, Monday through Friday. The entire appointment should take only about 30 minutes, so I should be able to do this either before or after work. The first 28 treatments will be for the entire left breast and for the area where they removed the ancillary lymph nodes (left armpit). The final seven treatments will be for the tumor area only. They call this "boost radiation".
And there's your Radiation 101.
I can't tell you how happy I am to be at my final chemo treatment. All in all, I have been extremely fortunate and have not suffered as much as many people I see in the waiting room at the Cancer Center. I thank my parents, Ralph and Nancy, for some extremely hardy genes.
And thanks again to all my friends, family, and co-workers who have helped with chemo, by providing company, or food, or housecleaning, or flowers, or just not telling me when I looked less than my best. I feel so inordinately lucky.
I met my radiation oncologist, Dr. Lorraine Champion, and liked her very much. ABCCC puts out a very good breast cancer treatment video and she's the narrator. (You can see her explanation of the radiation treatment here.)
They did a CT scan on me to assess how much heart and lung involvement there could potentially be in my radiation treatment. Basically, because the lungs are under the breasts, they can't totally avoid zapping them a bit, and this causes scar tissue (about 5% to 6%), which is not life-threatening. Of course, they'd prefer to avoid this with the heart, so the CT scan lets them know if they need to perform "respiratory gating". In this case, the patient has to fill the lungs, to push out the chest wall. Then, hopefully, the heart can be marginally protected. Of course, this means that you have to maintain this position during radiation and, um, can you say "kind of a drag"? Luckily, my heart is out of scope for radiation and I don't have to worry about this.
I have a simulation appointment on Friday, January 18, and then I should be starting treatment on Tuesday, January 22. Then I have 35 treatments, Monday through Friday. The entire appointment should take only about 30 minutes, so I should be able to do this either before or after work. The first 28 treatments will be for the entire left breast and for the area where they removed the ancillary lymph nodes (left armpit). The final seven treatments will be for the tumor area only. They call this "boost radiation".
And there's your Radiation 101.
I can't tell you how happy I am to be at my final chemo treatment. All in all, I have been extremely fortunate and have not suffered as much as many people I see in the waiting room at the Cancer Center. I thank my parents, Ralph and Nancy, for some extremely hardy genes.
And thanks again to all my friends, family, and co-workers who have helped with chemo, by providing company, or food, or housecleaning, or flowers, or just not telling me when I looked less than my best. I feel so inordinately lucky.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Ready, Set, Go!
What a busy couple of days we've had.
First: we got Emily happily esconced in her dorm room (Anacapa Hall) at UCSB over the weekend. We left home at about 10:30 a.m. on Saturday with a borrowed van (thanks again, Sarah & John!). We hit a bit of traffic around Watsonville, and some very icky rain a couple times, but got to Santa Barbara before 4:30. We managed to wrangle our way on to campus, stopped off at the bookstore (where we picked up Em's preordered books) and then left her bike locked up in front of her dorm. (Emily's room is one room away from this back door to the dorm. Not too shabby.)
After spending a lovely evening at the Ramada Limited and a quick morning visit to the Mission Santa Barbara, we got Emily moved in to her dorm, had lunch with her in the dining commons, and said "see you in five weeks" around 1 p.m. on Sunday. (I didn't get weepy until we were halfway down the hall.) Frank and I were back in Albany around 6:30 last night.
Second: On to today. I had a 10:30 appointment with my medical oncologist. All went well and she said that, as long as my surgeon is okay with it, I can start chemo next week. Finally! Don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly excited about chemo, but I do feel that the sooner I can get started, the sooner I can be on the other side of this, and I'm really ready to get started.
(It turns out I will not be doing the Taxol test. The treatment involved pills and self-injections and Dr. Kuan nixed the whole idea. It was kind of funny listening to her talk to the research department. "That's not a good test. No, you really should just scrap that test. What about this other one? <listening> No. That's not a good test. These are not really good tests." Anyway. We're doing the prescribed 4 cycles of AC and 6 cycles of Taxol, each two weeks apart.)
I scheduled a Monday morning first time infusion for the AC (I'll be there from about 9 till 1 p.m.) and a Tuesday follow-up for a shot of Neulasta (to get the white blood cell count going).
At 2:45, I met with my surgeon. He confirmed what Dr. Kuan told us--the margins were clean and there is no residual cancer in the breast or lymph node area. Yay! He said that, yes, I can start chemo whenever Dr. Kuan is ready. Then he brought up radiation. He talked about the "mammocite" proposal he had mentioned during our pre-surgery consult over a month ago. Mammociate radiation is when they put a balloon catheter into the tumor site and zap you with radiation from the inside as well as the outside, for five days. This greatly reduces the radiation time (from five/six weeks to five days), so that's a plus. On the other hand, there really aren't any long-term statistics for this form of radiation yet and so no one can offer assurances that it will be as effective, in the long run, as the good old six weeks of daily radiation.
If we pursued this form of radiation, we'd need to do it before chemo, and so we really needed to get Dr. Kuan's opinion. I called Dr. Kuan and after some phone tag, we spoke about the radiation. Given my high risk status, she doesn't recommend the mammocite radiation. So, there we are.
We'll start the AC on Monday and then do three more cycles over a period of eight weeks. When that's done, we'll get started on six cycles of Taxol over twelve weeks. Then we'll take a short break and get started on the radiation.
And, in the interest of fair and balanced reporting ;-), I have to say that I am in love with Blue Shield right now. They approved one of the more expensive anti-nausea meds (Emend) and so other than having a liter or so of toxic chemicals in my body next Monday, I should be feeling okay.
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