Health and Fitness : Laugh With Kathy - First Day of Radiation Therapy

*In recognition of October being Breast Cancer Awareness month, Dean and Val have asked me to share some stories from my book Laugh With Kathy, Finding humor in the journey through breast cancer. Each week day during October, I will post an excerpt from my book on Vinton Today. Our hope it that these articles will give you a glimpse into what it takes to beat breast cancer. Proceeds from books sold in October on Amazon and from my website will benefit the Survivors of Benton County. Please note that I was diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago, had two years of treatment and I am now living cancer free. www.laughwithkathy.com Friday, April 19, 2013: I had my first of thirty-three daily radiation treatments yesterday, and I'm just glowing! The appointment began with me meeting the technicians who will be helping me each day. They took the time to explain the equipment and explain that while I would be in the room alone at times, there were cameras and microphones in the room so they could monitor me and come assist me if I called for help. I took this as both reassuring and a caution not to do anything embarrassing, because people could be watching. The first step in radiation is taking your clothes off from the waist up. I then had my choice of designer capes to wear. I chose the fleece one because it was bright and colorful and didn't look like a hospital gown. I quickly learned to keep a firm grip on the front of the cape as it tended to fly over my shoulder as I walked through the halls. Is it still considered flashing if you have only one breast? The techs show me to the radiation room and point out the nice, hard radiation table. They have placed my customized form, which is monogrammed with my name in Sharpie, at the head of the table. Apparently, they made the form for me during my simulation when I wasn't paying attention. I glance at the long row of forms for other patients hanging at the back of the room. There is bound to be a joke here, but I am nervous and not sure what to expect in radiation. I get as comfortable as possible with my hands above my head and an elastic band around my feet. The band keeps people like me from wiggling their feet during radiation. They provide nice handles for you to grip above your head. Snug as a bug, I tell you. That is, until the tech flips back the cape and exposes my chest. They take a series of four X-rays to make sure I am lined up perfectly, and they write down a series of measurements for future use. The techs tell me my doctor is off today, so one of her partners will be coming in to verify that I'm lined up correctly. The doctor comes in and introduces himself. Now remember that I'm lying on a table with my arms above my head and a fleece cape partially covering me and obstructing my view. I have been told not to move. Because of my bifocals, I can see only a blurred image of the doctor from the nose up as he waves at me, and I chuckle. I tell him this is the strangest way I have met someone since childbirth. Everything is set, and it is time for radiation. I'm told to breathe normally but not to move. Isn't that a contradiction? They tell me I won't feel anything and it will take only a couple of minutes. I grip the handles above my head like they are a lifeline. I feel my heart racing as the machine begins to make noise. I stare at the skylight with images of palm trees and wish I were anywhere but here. I don't feel anything, but my mind goes to places that are scary. And I hold my breath. I remember that they can see me and force myself to relax my hands and to breathe shallow breaths. I'm afraid to take deep breaths in case this makes me move closer to the radiation. The tech tells me that the rest of my appointments will go much faster and verifies the time for my appointment the next day. I dress quickly and meet my daughter, Danielle, in the waiting room, and we leave. She asks me how it went. I can't talk. I just want out of the building. She understands immediately and starts chatting about the weather. We get in the car, and the tears start pouring down my cheeks. Danielle reaches over and holds my hand, and we sit quietly for several minutes. How did we raise such a compassionate daughter? I gather myself and say, "Shit!"� and we both start laughing. She asks if it hurt, and I tell her no. This is more of a head game for me. Ever since I was diagnosed, I have wanted to avoid radiation. My husband is surprised by this. He tells me that most people want to get out of chemo and don't mind radiation. It would be hard to put into words all my fears about radiation, but I will list a couple. I'm afraid of the damage it can cause and the permanence of that damage. In chemo, if you start to get too sick, they stop the chemo. In radiation, the damage doesn't show up for a while. My other fear is that I have known people who had too much exposure to radiation and died from it. I realize that medicine has come a long way since the early days and that if I understand it better, it will lessen my fears. So I will talk with my doctor and work my way through this. In the meantime, today is a fun day filled with radiation and starting phase three of chemo. A doubleheader! The way I see it, that gives me twice the number of techs and nurses to give a hard time!