A Radioactive Set-Back

There are words and thoughts and phrases that have been singing through my brain for days now.

Floating around until my fingers get the tingle that sends my thoughts onto a page.  I love how they come together like that......often I am having little conversations inside my brain while I am out and about......driving, folding laundry, hiking, walking the dog....sometimes even while I am having actual conversations with people which tends to get awkward and confusing for whoever is attempting to have that out-loud chat with me.

But tonight those words and thoughts and phrases are floating just out of reach....comprehension is not coming out of them.  Maybe it is the after-affects of chemo still.  I hear cancer survivors say this all the time.
"Chemo-brain addles up those thoughts," they say.
Maybe it's the drug that I have begun several weeks ago......the drug I have to be on for the next five years to block my hormones.  See, my particular flavour of cancer is attracted to my gorgeous hormones so they are no longer welcome in my body.  The hormones, that is.  And the cancer.  But the drug has taken up residence.

Tonight I am feeling a bit bogged down.  Sometimes I take a look at myself and a niggling whisper of doubt slips through...."You're being cured, right?  Because this cure has made you bald, sick, hacked up, tired and bogged down.  And you're not even done yet.  Ha!  Sucker!"

These cures for cancer are more than the cancer at times.  Yeah, yeah, I know that they are necessary and needed and helpful but, dang it, they stink!  And hurt!  They are messy and have rotten side-effects.  They befuddle my brain and fill me with a sense of despair for the future.  And no one, and I mean, no one likes a despairing sufferer.  It's so much more comfortable when they are cheerful.

So I will smile for you because I love to be liked.

After weeks of physio with my wonderful personal physiotherapist, Mindy, I had gained extensive arm mobility.  I could reach all the way above my head and was getting pretty good at my sun-tanner's pose.  Laying down, I would fold my hands together behind my head and try to relax my left elbow.  Lymphatic cords were stretched taut under my armpit.  Gently, Mindy would press my elbow down in an attempt to stretch the cords or, better yet, snap them.  She would rearrange my limbs into several other stretches and then give my arm a lymphatic massage.

I would be laying on a bed with her sitting by my side.  She would pick up my left arm and hold my hand, rubbing my arm down towards my shoulder.

"I use about the same pressure as you would if you were petting a cat," Mindy commented as she continued her massage.

This was the soothing part of my physio and I allowed my tongue to loll out with contentment.

Hearing the word "cat" seemed to beckon forth my fluffy feline, Kit-Kat.  She leapt onto the bed and began purring vigorously as she walked onto my prone form.  She curiously sniffed at my armpit, sat down on my chest and lifted a paw to begin grooming.  She was completely in the way but was oblivious in the way that cats are.
Do you have a cat?
If so, I am sure you know what I mean!  We used to have a cat that would head butt any book I was reading so that I kept losing my place.  He also loved to hop up on the computer desk to try to rub up against me while I worked; I would not be able to see the computer screen and his tail kept tickling my nose.  Kit-Kat appears instantly every-time Mindy is helping me with my physio exercises.
"Mew," Kit-Kat will announce as she hops quietly up onto the bed and sashays towards me, always eventually sitting right on top of me.

The lymphatic cords that would not allow me to straighten my arm are almost all snapped now, thanks to the dedicated efforts of Mindy!  There were about 5 or 6 stretched tight in the inside of my elbow....only 2 small ones remain.

I am supposed to be doing arm exercises to compliment all my physio; I am supposed to be doing these exercises two to three times a day but I often forget.  A good friend of mine took it upon herself to assist me with this with daily reminders!

BUZZ!  CHIRP!  (those are my phone noises)

"Did you do your exercises?" texts my friend or "1&2&3&4.  Are you done yet?"

These reminders have been uber helpful.  Usually each text is followed by me grabbing a nearby hockey stick and vigorously exercising!  Thankfully we have seven million hockey sticks and they are always nearby like some weird type of hockey gravity thing.

So when my mom picked me up last Friday to attend my Radiation Planning Appointment, I felt ready.  And sure.  And stuff.

We arrived at the Juravinski Centre - a part of my healing landscape once again - and made our way into the bowels of the centre.  The radiation clinics are all located downstairs.  We were quickly called through and sat down with a radiation lady and a young, male intern.

"Blah blah blah blah blah," explained the radiation lady while I bobbed my head up and down to denote deep understanding.
"Mmm hmm, mmm hmm," I would comment at key moments, usually during small pauses because this seemed to be the right time.
Then we got to the tattoo part.  I was super excited about this part.  See, radiation means you get tattoos.  Four, in my case.

".....and then we will place the tattoos on your chest..." Radiation Lady continued drily.

"Do I get a skull tattoo?" I exploded with way too much excitement for a radiation room.  Heads turned our way, "I mean, how many people have their mom come with them to get a tattoo?" I continued, grinning broadly.  Mom smiled back.

Radiation Lady and Male Intern tittered.  Tittered!  Who actually does that anymore, anyways?

After they tittered at me, I acknowledged that I didn't really think I could get a skull tattoo nor did I actually want a skull tattoo, I was just sort of excited about being tattooed.

"So, the tattoos are really just the size of a freckle and then blah blah blah...." Radiation Lady continued.

Then I was led to a room to change into a hospital gown.  I hurriedly stripped from the waist up and then narrowed my gaze at the pile of neatly folded, blue-patterned gowns.  I sighed.

Which way did they have to go on again?  Why couldn't I remember what Radiation Lady said?  Argh!!!  I slipped the gown on and sauntered over to the radiation room.

"Uh... your gown is on the wrong way!" Radiation Lady announced without any preamble.

"Of course it is," I muttered, spinning around and stalking back to the dressing room.  These gowns have become my fashion nemesis.  I always wear them wrong.

Once I was adequately bedecked, I was laid down on a narrow bed in front of a giant, donut-shaped machine.  This was the machine that would scan me.

Someone reached over and flipped my blue-patterned gown down.  I was bare from the waist up.  Radiation Lady, Male Intern and another woman stood above me.  I badly wanted to cover my chest.  My scar and poor remaining breast were exposed.  Just like that, I was a body on a bed.  My face flamed with the indignity of it and I could not look at the young intern beside me.  Twenty-three, he had said he was.  Gazing down at my body with a clinical eye, sizing up the scars.

I wanted to smirk at the awkwardness of it all, maybe make some funny or flippant remark but none came to mind.  My teeth clenched and I felt hot tears welling up.

Radiation Lady reached for my left arm and began positioning it above my head.  There were two stirrup-like thingies there for my arm and hand to be cradled in.  Except my arm did not want to stretch enough to reach them.  Radiation Lady tried again and I could sort-of get my arm into place but those lymphatic cords were so tight and it was not a sustainable position.

Radiation Lady, extra woman and Male Intern concurred, "It's not a sustainable position for the half hour needed for the scans to occur."
They called in two other people:  "She is so close.  Her arm needs to be just a little higher.  This position is not sustainable."

One woman leaned in close.  She had a beautiful English accent, stylish, short brown hair and friendly, dark eyes.  "We need your arm to be higher so we will have to reschedule this appointment.  But don't you worry," she reached down and covered my chest with the gown.  I sighed with relief as she continued, "You will be back here in about a week and it will all be okay.  Don't be upset with yourself; just keep doing your exercises and your arm mobility will get there in no time!"  She helped me sit up.

I got dressed, balled up that hospital gown and threw it.  Walked towards my mom in the waiting room.  Her eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"My arm mobility isn't good enough yet," I explained, "I hafta come back in a week."

"Oh, okay," my mom responded and gathered up her things.  "Want to go get some lunch?"

"Yes, mom, I do." I said.

Sometimes in life, there are set-backs.  Sometimes they are annoying or hard or depressing. Sometimes they involve radiation.  But when they occur, hanging out with a loved one is a wonderful thing to do.


(Thank you for listening or reading along......your patience has lifted me up.)

"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases (even in the middle of cancer and radioactive set-backs); his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  'The LORD is my portion', says my soul, 'therefore I hope in him.'"  

Lamentations 3: 22-24