Radiation Photos and Thoughts

I have to say that radiation has been by far my most stretching time in this whole cancer journey. This week, after worrying myself silly all weekend, I realized I came to a point of desperation. As I read in my "Streams in the Desert" about desperation, I realized that this is a perfect place for God to pick right up and carry my through. No, I have never completely been at peace about radiation in general. And definitely no, I am absolutely not comfortable being strapped down to a table with weird, space-like machines beaming radiation at me which may cause me health issues later in life. But you know what? God can redeem all that - He can completely revive my healthy tissues that are being damaged. He can spare me of future breast cancer, lung cancer, reduced lung capacity, etc. If that's His will. When I lose sight of Him, I realize my anxiety sky rockets and I need to regain focus. These last few days, after nights of fervent prayers for God to just take this burden from me, I believe it is being lifted. I am dosing down my Ativan and dosing up my concentration on the Maker of the Universe - and it's working! Why am I shocked? I've learned to relax during my treatments, to enjoy the dim lights, the music, the radiation therapists and even the other cancer patients as they fight for their lives. I had the radiation therapists take some pictures of me today in the dreaded mask.

Here is the beastly radiation machine:

Here I am before positioning and treatment:

Here I am ready to go, mask and all:

And a close up (this mask is made of rigid plastic) - don't I look like an alien?!

And after - it is a comfort that those green lines line up my radiation to the millimeter, so no healthy tissue is affected.

So far, my throat hurts and I'm getting a bit pink, but nothing I can't handle. Eating may begin to get a little hard for me pretty soon because of my throat, but I only have 8 more treatments. Yay!!

I complied a playlist of songs to get me through radiation. I thought I would post them here, because they really are getting me through a hard time.

1) "Wonderful Maker" by Jeremy Camp
2) "Hallelujah Jesus" by Evan Wickham
3) "Strong Enough" by Matthew West
4) "Not Alone" by Red
5) "Be Thou My Vision" by Jars of Clay
6) "Remember Me" by Mark Shultz (this one makes me cry)
7) "Mountain of God" by Third Day
8) "Indescribable" by Chris Tomlin
9) "Show Me Your Glory" by Third Day
10) "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe
11) "Come Thou Fount" by David Crowder Band
12) "The Valley Song" by Jars of Clay

My Radiation Paper Chain

While I was away at my very first radiation treatment this morning, my very sweet Aunt Michelle and Samuel made me this super pretty paper chain. Why? You might say. Well, since the thought of 17 daunting treatments in that immobilizing face mask has me in a tizzy, my friend gave me the idea of this paper chain. For every day of treatment completed, I can take off one of the loops. It's a very tangible way to see that this cancer treatment road I am on is coming to a close, link by link. I took one off this morning and it felt so good. April 10th is my last treatment and I can't wait! My treatment this morning was incredibly fast - about 10 minutes total,with the radiation portion only being a couple of minutes. It was doable. Now, only four more this week. I can do this.

Thoughts, Prayers, Fears

*This picture is what my face looked like after the appointment - that's how tight this mask is.

I'll be honest (aren't I always?) - I've hit a wall - a real tough spot emotionally in this cancer journey. Since my diagnosis, I have always thought that radiation would be the easy part. Compared to chemo, it's a piece of cake, right? I mentally prepared for some fatigue (again, I dealt with that already - lymphoma really taught me the meaning of fatigue) and annoying trips to North Portland everyday for treatment. Never in a million years did I think that I would come face to face with anxiousness, claustrophobia, fears of radiation machines, fears of the side effects in the future from radiation, intense fear of cancer itself, etc.. Do you sense a pattern? Fear. It took up residence in my mind the moment they created that silly immobilizing mask last week - I started to view the radiation office and treatments themselves as big as Mt. Everest. This is something I didn't sign on for - I never once up until this point think "I can't do this". Well, I've been thinking it a lot this week. And if it weren't initially for my husband saying "You will do it. Because you don't want to die" and looking at my children and realizing I would have to, someway, figure out how to get over my fears and continue on this journey until it is completed because I do want to hold my grand babies someday. You know what I realized? God is going to have to finish this race for me - I can't do it on my own. And I think that's right where He wants me.

My appointment yesterday was a "set up" appointment. A dry run, if you will, of what each radiation will be like. They told me it would be 30 minutes long and I knew it would be hardest 30 minutes I've done in awhile - well, since last week =). I knew it would involve that suffocating mask and more strangers probing and marking and more pictures, radiation machines and more fear. I woke up yesterday morning and began praying for peace. And to my surprise, I was quite peaceful up until my appointment. Then I started to get nervous - the only way to finish radiation treatments is to go through them - I can't quit, freak out, run away. I have to endure whatever those medical professionals hand to me. Yesterday they handed me a 60 minute session of being in the mask, strapped to the table, listening (because I can't see - the mask it too tight for my eyes to open) to two strangers over me muttering off coordinates of where the radiation beams will be hitting me. Then they would step out of the room and take x-rays. This is when the panic started to rise in me. I just wanted someone to stay with me - to hold my hand. But unfortunately, when you deal with CT scans, PET scans, radiation, no one can be in the room with you - it's a lonely walk. As I lay there listening to my Christian CD playing (they have since marked this CD with my name on it and will play it for each and every radiation treatment), I realized the God of the universe was in that room with me. I'm never truly alone. I also began to pray for those techs working on me that day - perhaps they need to hear the music playing about Jesus. I've forgotten that going into this whole cancer thing, I really wanted to get God's name out there - to glorify Him somehow. And suddenly I've become so distracted with just surviving this rough patch that I forgot there are bigger battles out there than just my own.

All in all, I made it through the appointment with no stalls - no pleads to take the mask off. It was extremely uncomfortable - both physically and emotionally. The experience stretched me in ways spiritually and emotionally I didn't think I was capable of.  And on Monday, I will be back there to start on a road that will probably stretch me even further. But I realize that I need to pray for peace in my heart. I need to let my children see something beautiful through this cancer experience. I want them to see Jesus. I want to exhibit grace and endurance. I want them to grow with me.

Keepin' It Real About Radiation

So, here begins my journey with radiation. I have been given exactly zero time to recover from chemo. As a matter of fact, I had to cancel my first radiologist appointment because it was two days out from my last chemo and guess what? I was sick. So, yesterday was my new radiologist appointment and also what they call a "set up session". That's a nice way to say a CAT scan simulation where you are nailed to a table with the above contraption pasted to your face and upper chest. After my doctor did a once over on me and once again warned me of all the short term side effects of radiation (thick saliva, no working taste buds, a "sore" esophagus, slightly burned skin, yada, yada, yada) and when he began to launch into long term side effects (these I already knew - decreased lung capacity and possibilities for heart issues later with a side of breast or lung cancer to boot) I told him I didn't want to hear them again. I'll be honest - at this point in the cancer game, I am tired. Real tired. I don't have the energy to be super sweet to my doctor - I just want this whole chapter of my life closed, wrapped up, so I can move on and start enjoying life again. With some taste buds. At any rate, I finished up with my doctor appointment and was led back for the "set up" portion of the appointment. Mind you - no one warned me about the possibility of becoming a crazy, cagey, claustrophobic lunatic. Which I did become in the minutes that followed. I was told to undress from the waist up - which made me sad because I had to remove my hat (which I NEVER do - no one sees me without hair unless they see me sprinting from the shower to the bedroom and then it's usually only Abe, and yes, he looks at me funny). The tech took her very human moment of sizing up my hair or lack thereof (it's a natural thing to do even for someone who sees cancer patients all day) and led me back to the CAT scan room. I was laid on a very hard table and my upper chest was pretty much completely exposed.  She then presented me with this hard plastic which mesh thing which she claimed she was going to put in warm water and wrap around my head. At this point she said to pretend I was getting a facial. Hmm. Now another tech walked in because apparently this "facial" is a two person job. So out comes this pliable, hot plastic which both techs are now stretching tight over my face and down to the table, at which point they actually lock it onto the table. Take a moment now and look at the picture above - I am in exactly that same contraption. Both nurses are working furiously with this hot substance, rubbing it tight onto every part of my face. Now, if you all wouldn't be freaked out and claustrophobic at this point, then you are not human. They made the mistake of asking me how I was doing and I said it was awkward (and by "awkward" I mean painful and I will ensue a full panic attack at any moment) and the moment they offered to take it off, I said yes. She gave me the option of putting it back on in a few minutes and finishing the scan, or coming back tomorrow, fully drugged on Ativan and trying the scan then. I opted for the latter. You know what? I'm not sorry. I was a much better patient this morning with zero anxiety even locked down to the table and all. Did I mention I told my husband and mom last night that I wouldn't be going through with radiation after all? I really didn't think there was a way around this whole face mask thing. As it turns out - Ativan, Christian music playing very loud in the scan room and the lights turned way down did the trick! So, my next appointment is next week and yes, I am stuck with this face thing for all 17 treatments. At this point, I am done trying to be a hero. If I have to take drugs to get through my radiation treatments, so be it. Better than refusing the treatments all together, right?