Today is my first ‘day off’ in over a month! I haven’t got a single appointment and no one is coming here to take my blood pressure or ask me my pain level. It feels wonderful!
The last week was so full of people and procedures and questions, and a few answers. My short-term memory and attention span have been ‘adjusted’ by narcotics, so I count on Jeanne to fill in many nouns while I’m talking – names of doctors, drugs, days, etc. It’s great having an administrative assistant for these tasks. I’ll have to make some adjustments when she goes home.
Radiation therapy involves a very large machine worthy of the best science fiction movies. I have my eyes closed during the process, so everything happens in my imagination. I interpret whirring, clicking, and buzzing to whatever motions I choose, and that’s more fun than actually knowing what’s going on. (The head of the machine rotates all the way around me – amazing…)
I lay on a cradle that’s customized to my back; it fits me and supports me completely from my head to my knees. They tell me it’s made of some fabric and air and fluff, but I choose to believe it’s made of all your good wishes for me. It holds me in white light and works with the red (I imagine) laser beams that dry up (I pretend) the cancer cells. Our white light (I’m participating, too) is a gentle breeze that blows the dried up cells away and creates a healing space for new cells. It’s all about love, and I thank you for being with me. If you want to get even more involved, I’ll be laying in that cradle next week on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at 10:40 am for about 20 minutes each time (and again on Monday, the 28th, my final treatment for a while). You could close your eyes and think of me, as I’ll have my eyes closed, thinking of you. Words cannot express my gratitude to you.
What’s next? Well, the day after my last radiation treatment I have outpatient surgery scheduled to install a port in my chest. That will make it safer and easier to deliver chemo drugs without damaging my veins. Chemo starts on December 7th, and I’ll go a couple rounds before having another scan to determine how well that’s working. At that point I might have an actual prognosis (something no one has been willing to offer to date).
I’ve got some time between radiation and chemo to check in with a few folks who have been through Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma and are now well. I look forward to those conversations.
Thank you, again, for all your good wishes and love. You are amazing.
Published on CaringBridge.org — November 19, 2016