PAIN

I just couldn't think of a more apt title. OH. EM. GEE. 

Let me tell you, I am ONTO that whole oncologic radiology community, I am. I understand their timing, I do. 

You see, one is prescribed six weeks of daily radiation, with a follow-up appointment about three weeks AFTER it's all over. Fine. No problem. Well, except for the uncomfortable table one must lie upon and having to hold one's breath eight times for 30+ seconds during each treatment. Other than that, the treatments are brief and the personnel pleasant. (And the deep breathing is probably a healthy exercise).

One is given all kinds of literature, including that advising on how to care for irradiated skin. Coconut oil, of which I have plenty on hand (thank you, Costco), is one of the recommended treatments. 

Yes, I did notice my skin gradually showing some light sunburn-like effects over the six-week course, but nothing I couldn't handle, thanks to experience and my Irish ancestry...

UNTIL...

...the three days or so following the last treatment. OH. EM. GEE. Such pain! I found myself slathering on coconut oil 4-5 times per day. My poor dried-out, red, peeling skin just drinks it in, as does whatever old T-shirt I have chosen to ruin. As of this writing, it's been one week since the last treatment and I have by turns slathered on coconut oil and four types of lotion. Apparently my daughter and I are quite the collectors of skin hydration. I'm almost to the end of an expired tube of hydrocortisone. That and some left over hydrocodone have allowed me to sleep for the past two nights. Oh, and did I mention wine? That, too. Yep. Sorry, Lent. 

It seems that the follow-up appointment is purposely scheduled for when the patient is no longer suffering. HA! I'm onto you, you...you radiation oncologist, you! 

It seems as if the pain is letting up just a little. Just. A. Little. I had felt as if parts of my chest skin were going to split open but, today, not so much. Whew! I will be so grateful when I can wear clothes again and venture out into the world. Being quarantined with this Covid 19 virus has come in handy for that reason. 

Speaking of Covid 19, I can't help but reflect on where I was exactly a year ago; in isolation in a hospital with sepsis. Thank God that was last year and not this year. A year ago today was the last day in which I had to self-administer antibiotics via syringe through my chemo port; a procedure which required that I don a mask and gloves three times a day. THAT was a scary time. 

But I digress.

I just wanted to record the pain of my poor, irradiated chest skin; a pain that has almost...ALMOST brought me to tears, but not quite. This is the last battle of my personal war against "The Big C." I hope. 

Port de Bras

Port de Bras

No, we’re not talking a ballet move here.  I’m merely amused by the word ‘port’ in the same phrase as ‘bras.’* Quite apt for my purposes here; that being an essay about a port-a-cath being removed from  my chest after breast cancer treatment.

Actually, this probably won’t be much of an essay, as the surgery wasn’t much of a…surgery.  All that stress and sleeplessness the night before for…this:

I’ll just cut to the O.R., as rehashing the prep, even including veins worn out by chemo being nearly impossible to locate for an I.V., is just, well, B-O-R-I-N-G.

Apparently, all of the general anesthesia I’ve had within the last year has given me a bit of a drug tolerance, resulting in the “twilight sleep” not quite living up to that claim. Nevertheless, the surgery was almost pleasant as the doctor, nurses, and I discussed recent movies, the awards season, and Brad Pitt during the procedure. We even viewed a video of Mr. Pitt’s amusing SAG award acceptance speech!  Classical music playing softly over the O.R. speakers lent to a mellow atmosphere, made more mellow by the ‘cocktail’ flowing through my veins.  It truly was the most fun I’ve had lying on an operating room table, ever!

So, I just need to watch for infection, take only Tylenol for pain, and, my favorite instruction; not shower for three days.  Yeah, I’m an old hand at not showering, that’s for sure.  I think I went about 50 days early last year between the three surgeries over a 5-6 week period.  Just when you think you’ll no longer need those leftover disposable body wash cloths…

The above instructions are only in effect for three days, which means I’ll be able to shower just in time for RADIATION (see previous post). The fun continues…

* I actually got my very first bra on a March 17, St. Patrick’s Day.  At the time I thought that the phrase, “Erin Go Bragh” was quite apt, as well. Yeah, I can draw parallels anywhere.

Fade Away and Radiate*

Fade Away and Radiate*

We had a wonderful Christmas. Really great. Just stayed in, as I was recovering (again) from surgery. Finally, the mastectomy is finished. (Why have one surgery when you can have four?) I was just happy to be alive. It actually seemed as if the previous Christmas had only been a few months prior. Where did that year go?  I realized that I hadn’t been so sure that I’d be around for this Christmas. I suppose that was a subconscious thought all along. Wow. Grateful.

I was going to write an entry immediately after Christmas about my J.P. drain coming apart. I even had a catchy title ready: “MERry Christmas,” with the E and the R capitalized, as in Emergency Room. Yep, that’s right. Christmas night in the E.R., ladies and gentlemen. A first for us. The tube had detached from the drain bottle, which I hadn’t even realized could happen. Turns out that they are, actually, two distinct parts. After my infection/sepsis horror of last spring, I was a little freaked out, so off to the E.R. we went. Turns out that it wasn’t as big a deal as I had thought and they merely reconnected it. I was imagining the worst; that they'd have to surgically put in a new sterile one.  It actually detached a couple more times during the THREE WEEKS I had to wear it (UGH – there’s another tale of woe. LOL). I was so grateful to have that thing removed. Well, actually, it kinda’ removed itself. No, really. I had nothing to do with it.

January’s thrill (besides no longer having to wear a little drain bottle of yuck) was finally getting a prosthesis and a bra in which to put it. What a relief as, let me tell you, the socks weren’t working AT ALL. It had gotten to the point where I didn’t even want to leave the house. Vain, I know. No one’s looking at your boobs as much as you yourself are. Usually, that is. So nice now to just get dressed and GO as normal people do.

And now…(drum roll, please) The Next Hurdle…

So, I went to the Radiation Oncologist last week, confident that I wouldn’t need radiation. He thought, although everything looked clear, that it would be prudent to have a 6-week course of 28 treatments- just to be sure.

Wow. 

What a blow that was! I nearly burst into tears right there in his office. So that’s going to start within the next week or so. I’m really NOT looking forward to the side effects. I don’t want to be tired. I don't want fried skin. I don't want...I want to get things DONE. I want to get busy earning some money, etc. (*sigh*).

I seem to be having some PTSD-like symptoms lately, wherein all that has occurred over the last 19 months seems to be finally catching up to me. Many people told me I was brave. I don’t think it was bravery. I think it was a sense of unreality, of compartmentalization, of perhaps observing from afar what was, in fact, happening to me directly.

There was only one other time when I nearly lost it. That was a few months ago while digging through the PILE of cancer paperwork I have stored in a box and  having ALL OF THAT history smack me in the face, figuratively. Dear God, to look at all of those Dr. referrals and test results and hospitalization reports was just…overwhelming. It dawned on me that all of that hadn’t happened to someone else, but to me. How horrible. 

So now I face another challenge. Stay tuned.

*Blondie, “Fade Away and Radiate,” Parallel Lines album, 1978, Written by Christ Stein