The Art of Radiation

Sun Tsu has written a few pieces of advice. I didn't heed them because he was writing on the art of war, and, as I've explained before, I have a hard time thinking of the cancer thing as a battle.

Sun Tsu's recommendation is that one should not underestimate one's enemy.

I underestimated radiation. I had my eye on the end-of-chemo-date as the prize, thinking that the next Big Thing in cancer treatment would not be much of a big thing at all. I thought it'd be a breeze.

Turns out that a "breeze" in the middle of December in Colorado is pretty uncomfortable. It would have been better if I went into radiation expecting a nightmare. Just think of how pleasantly surprised I'd have been!

So the Mayfield sympathizers among you are thinking, "See, Amy? You would have done well to be a little more martial in your approach. The war metaphor would have served you effectively here."

But is radiation really my enemy? No, no. It's my friend. At least, my enemy is cancer (this much we agree on) and the enemy of cancer is radiation, and Sun Tsu did say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

I'm pretty sure he didn't have anything to say about under or over estimation of a friend's ability to burn out living tissue by means of relentless application.

So, again, we find the military metaphor coming up short.

In any case, I am over the shock of the realities of radiation. 1 week down, 6 weeks to go.

That first week was also accompanied by a snow storm and single-digit temperatures, all of which does not impress my Chicagoland readers as being all that terrible, but I have gone soft, friends. And it was miserable to drive in. And, don't forget, I'm also bald, which turns all things "cold" into things that are "awful damn cold."

But the sun came out today! We reached mid-50's! The snow is melted from the streets and I can look forward to my commute to the cancer center as 40 minutes of me-time.

I even checked out a book on CD for my own edification. Titled Manhunt, it's the story of the 12 day search for John Wilkes Boothe. Educational, interesting and yet completely irrelevant to my actual life. It's the trifecta of reading material.

So, then, just a few remarks to follow up on what I've reported from the first week:

1. I asked about the hole in the ceiling panel. Shared my observation that it didn't look very official. The tech--and they are all very nice women, these techs who zap me--shrugged and said, "We just needed a hole."

Then the other pointed out that the two side laser machines were housed in cabinets, the doors of which had been carved through as well. "It makes it so much nicer in here!" she said, meaning that it was "nicer" for these two machines to be covered instead of exposed.

I gestured at the enormous radiation machined in the middle of the room with the movable slab below it and said, "Yeah, those cabinets really make a difference. . ."

2. I offered to bring them a pack of washable markers. "I could get 8 of them for you for a mere 3 bucks! My treat!"

But, no. They have to use FDA approved surgical markers that cost $8 a piece and can only be used on one patient (that I understand). They write the patient's name on her marker and then stick it into a specially-designed marker-holder that, I'm guessing, cost about a hundred bucks.

3. Side effects: I have the expected ones. . . fatigue in that arm, a soreness in the treated area. But it's a soreness that feels like a lactic acid burn that comes after working out an un-worked muscle, so it's not too bad. And I stretch often.

The unexpected effect: nausea.

Following the first treatment, I felt yucky throughout the day and it built up until, by 6PM, I was very close to throwing up. Dr. X-Ray hadn't given me a number to call after hours, so I called Dr. Science, who, again, was completely generous with his time as I started out with, "So sorry to disturb you. . ."

I was to take the same medications I took to control the nausea from chemo. I did, and they worked.

Tuesday I felt fine. Wed through Fri, I took the meds again.

I find it all pretty disappointing, as I was really liking not being on any medications. But. Well. We'll see. . . I will try on Monday to go without, and see just how bad it actually gets.

I mentioned all this to Dr. X-Ray on Wednesday, of course. And asked, "Are you sure they are pointing that thing at the right place?"

He said, "I hope so." And then explained that the beam follows the light, and that the techs see the light on the closed-circuit TV. So they'd know if it was pointed at my stomach.

Turns out some people are just very sensitive to radiation, and I'm one of them. Not too surprising, because I get nauseous very easily. I can't even watch my kids jump on a trampoline without needing to toss the ole cookies.

4. Speaking of Dr. X-Ray. . . After having to call Dr. Science on Monday night, I went in to the Radiation dept on Tuesday in search of their after-hours-call number. I asked the RN who works in a booth right inside the department's door. I explained what had happened. In the future, what number should I call?

She asked, "When did you need to call?"

I said, "6 PM."

"Oh," said the nurse-in-a-booth, "That's after hours."

"Yeah," I said.

"Dr. X-Ray doesn't give out his number for outside office hours."

"Well," I said, "Shame on him."

She looked back at me with big eyes. This was an exciting development in her day.

I went on, "My surgeon gave me his number when I was in his care. My oncologist gave me his number. Seems to me that my radiologist should give me his. I'm in his care, am I not?"

Her eyes were still big. "People just call their oncologist if they have a problem."

Well. Fine. These guys are part of the same practice, and if that's their deal, fine. But mark my words: I'm going to mention this to Dr. Science.

You're thinking, "Mention it to Dr. X-Ray, too! I dare you!"

And I was going to. But then he walked in on Wednesday and we got down to the important business of the day--e.g. pictures of Amy! decapitated--and. . . I just like him a lot. He's very down to earth. Easy going. I didn't have the heart to read him a riot act about accessibility. It's not like it's a problem to call Dr. Science, after all.

Maybe I bring up the subject before the 7 weeks are up. As I tell you all about it, I realize that I'm pretty curious to know what he'd say. I've got just 6 weeks to find out. . .