Friday, October 3, 2014

Slide Control

This week went much better than last week in terms of mentally tolerating the daily radiation treatments. Getting and staying on one (and the right one) machine helped a lot - the initial set up and re-set up were over with so the visits were much shorter. On the first day there was music, I asked if we could keep it on and they said I could pick anything since they have Pandora. Now, as soon as I walk into the treatment room, I pick my music. Even though it will only be for about 4 songs, I have discovered this is my saving grace. One of the techs asked what I wanted to listen to, what was my favorite music. I said I didn't want to listen to my favorite music and then associate it with the treatment. Nora Jones was on the air when I walked in which seemed fine by me - at least it wasn't muzak, Country Western, or some angry 80s rock ballad or even worse heavy metal. Instead, it turns out I have selected Easy Listening (read that nice and slowly for full effect). Nora was followed by Frank Sinatra and that worked for me, too. The music is a nice distraction.

Anyway, here is the chain of events for anyone following along. The whole process takes roughly 90 minutes from my office in Alumni Gym, more on Mondays when I meet with my radiation oncologist. Walk to car, drive to hospital (park for free - score). Go down two flights to the radiation treatment center (room 2K is the radiation/oncology reception area - I kid you not). Swipe in at the bar code reader with my tag (left) and then wait to be called. A few minutes later, and some number of pages into the home decor magazine of the day, I get called to go to the gown changing area where I put on my non-drafty gown (arms through two sleeves then it wraps around from the back and it loops over my right arm, very nifty). Move into 2nd waiting area. Get called into the treatment room, remove the gown (these things will never wear out except from washing) and hop onto the treatment table where they place a bolster under my knees, the custom head pillow is already waiting (not soft at all, hard plastic), and I wedge up against a stop (like a seat but you are lying down) built into the table to keep me from sliding around. As I reach my arms up over my head to hold onto the handles to keep my them and me from moving, the techs remark my tattoos with a sharpie to better see the alignment marks. They use those marks to determine how much to pull on the sheet underneath me to slide me into position. Sometimes, they'll lift my arms to get them in the right place to align me as well. At that point, a red light shines onto me as part of the process. The reflection in the glass of the rotating X-ray disc above me shows an alien looking red patchwork of veins with very small spacing projected onto my bare chest. I can't think of the movie where I've seen this effect before, but it should come to me. On X-ray day, they take a few images at each of the three treatment stations and compare my alignment. This past Wednesday, they re-measured how far each of my sides is from a designated point to make sure I haven't changed in size. Finally, if it isn't an X-ray day, that's it - they leave the room and let me know it's time to start the treatment.

The treatment is delivered through the X-ray machine which looks like a disc from my vantage point, maybe a couple of feet in diameter. It is on an arm which allows it to move in with nearly complete freedom of movement. It usually starts on my left near my elbow aimed at what seems perpendicular to my right breast and then there are a few zaps - I can hear the X-ray machine whirring when I am being radiated. After a those bursts, the disc rotates around me and to the right - next up, I believe, is the supraclavicular region. At this point, I can just see the edge of the disc in my peripheral vision. One or two more bursts, and the final rotation to my right occurs. I can't see where the machine stops because my head is turned up and to the left to keep my chin out of the action. The final two bursts are completed, and then the red light goes out signaling I am done and free to move - relief for my arms, and I can cover back up again with the gown. The total zapping time is about a minute or so and the time from first to last zap is about four minutes. Pro tip - make sure to wait till they remove the bolster and lower the table before disembarking or you'll make the techs nervous.

Then, I'm on my own again to head back to the gown area, apply some of the skin cream to the treated area, get dressed, and head out. Remembering which floor I parked on is the next major hurdle, and then I can drive away. It's that simple. The whole process (despite my whining) really is how my assistant coach would say much wow.

9 down, 24 to go.


  1. Linda:
    Love your upbeat fighting spirit!

  2. What?!
    No metal?

    Get some Iron Maiden going so the cancer cells "run to the hills"