Radiation Simulation

Today I went for my radiation simulation. Stephen and I discovered a wing of the cancer treatment facility that we didn't know existed--- even though we'd been to the building many times before.

The radiation area felt different to me. It was a new territory and I didn't feel all that comfortable with the surroundings. When we were in the changing room, Stephen commented to me that the facility looked neat. He was right, it definitely looks clean, neat and organized, but as nice as it is, I felt like a PATIENT. A sick person. I didn't want to be in that place, no matter how great it appeared to be. I am tired of being a patient. My husband hugged me and offered words of encouragement.

I didn't really know what to expect from this appointment. At check-in, we were directed to the changing rooms and lockers, and then told to report back at the desk. From that point, we were taken to a little waiting area. Within a minute, I was taken to the CAT scan room. I didn't even know why I needed a scan. I asked. The technician told me that it's to help with setting up my treatment.

It was cold in the scan room. I felt really uncomfortable, and humiliated, as I lay on my back, uncovered from the waist up, and gripping handles above my head. The techician worked with the radiation oncologist to mark areas around my breast, first with marker, and then with wires affixed to tape. The technician covered me with a warm blanket, except for the exposed upper body. That was somewhat comforting, but it didn't ease the mixed feelings of dread, discouragement and loneliness. After a while, the technician left the room and my body was sliding forward and backward through the machine. The machine sounded like a wind tunnel. I felt somewhat claustrophobic as the procedure took place. I kept my eyes closed, but I couldn't fight the tears that started to stream through my lids.

I felt like I had surrendered to cancer once again. I didn't have a choice today (at least, not a logical one). I had to go for this simulation. I had to prepare for radiation. I had to be a patient again. I had to face my health condition. I couldn't run from it. It was staring me in the face once again, and I had to deal with it head on. I was a cancer patient again, and I will continue to be one for the next six and a half weeks during which I will have radiation treatments. And, beyond that, I will be a cancer patient as I take hormone cancer treatment pills for the next five years. And, I will be one every time I look in the mirror and see that my hair is as short as a man's. And, this will continue, as it always does, when I go out in public with my husband and see women with beautiful hair. And, this will continue every time I swell with lymphodema. I will be reminded every time I board an airplane and need to wear my compression sleeve and glove. Every time I look in the mirror and see my scarred body. I am no longer a healthy person who has never been seriously ill. I am a patient. I am fighting to be a survivor. I do not feel that I have survived yet. I feel like I am trying to survive--- and hoping to survive.
I am 100% completely dependent on God for my survival. I can't control it. I can't change it. I continue to live like I am going to live. That's how I've dealt with this cancer all the while--- living like I'm going to continue to live...

...but I'm really feeling like I'm starting to wear thin. I'm tired. VERY tired. The stress of running to appointments, trying to keep up my lifestyle in the manner which I did prior to getting sick, having a family to care for, and now a grandbaby to take care of several days per week. I'm really wearing out. I am seeing the need to take the pressure off of myself to keep up like before being sick. I just can't do it.

Christmas is going to have to be different this year. And, we don't even have the financial resources to do much anyway. It's going to be a different experience, but it will maybe be an even better one, because it will be more about family togetherness than material things.

Just thinking aloud... it's been a draining day. The beginning of and end, I guess--- radiation should be the final step (minus the oral medication) in this battle with my cancer.