I haven’t posted in a while, mostly because I ran out of things to say. It’s not that things aren’t happening; they’re just repetitive and not that interesting. The doctors at MD Anderson are treating me for things, it takes time, and hopefully it’s working. At least that's the plan.
I’ve been working remotely from Houston. I’ve been here for nearly a month straight without going back home and it will be quite a while longer. And you know what I’ve found out? I can do 75% of my job from a laptop. And the best part is no one else has to know if I’m still in my bed or if I’m sitting at a desk. My little secret.
I am trying not to comment much about politics on here (go Democrats, boo Republicans). I like to think of this space as more about me than about what I do. That all said, watching how messed up Congress is right now actually makes me feel like my situation isn’t that bad. I mean, I have Cancer but they have shutdown/debt ceiling/immigration/guns/tax reform/Syria/Obamacare to deal with. So, maybe we’re even.
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Monday, September 16th was the start of the newest wave of treatment – radiation. It’s been 4 months since I was diagnosed. It took some time to figure out the plan and then we did 16 weeks of Chemo.
The radiation isn’t exactly what I would call “fun” but it isn’t miserable, at least not yet. They bring me into this funky looking room that looks a bit like a nuclear fallout shelter – mostly cause it kind of is – and they put me on a table. This huge machine rotates around me and zaps me with proton beams from 4 different angles.
I can’t feel the zapping (and I’m not sure what other term I could use to describe it). The discomfort comes from the fact that they have to immobilize me so they zap the right places (important, right?). That means a big mesh mask bolted down to the table. It’s really tight and unpleasant. I’m apparently not made to wear a fencing mask, I guess. Here’s the best picture I could find
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Each treatment takes about 45 minutes from start to finish. For other patients, they have nice music playing in there, but I hijacked the stereo system and hooked it up to my iPad. Now I’m listening to Robert Caro’s books on LBJ. Much more relaxing!
For the science nerds among us, proton therapy would actually kinda neat if I wasn’t going through it. There is a giant machine – the synchrotron – which accelerates protons in a circle to almost the speed of light before they shoot them at me. The protons are traveling around in the synchrotron and may travel 300,000 miles – same as circling the earth 12 times – and they get zapped out through a huge 190-ton device that directs them to the right place on me. 300,000 miles traveled and sent out through a 190-ton device yet the machine is precise down to 1mm.
When I come out of the treatment, the biggest problem is that my face looks the like a waffle. The mask has pushed down and made little boxes all over. It’s not painful, just uncomfortable and funny looking. It goes away pretty soon each day.
I’m starting to notice some side effects – a little discomfort but nothing too terrible. I’m told it takes until weeks 3 or 4 for the side effects to really hit. We’ll see. I’ll tell you what they are if and when they hit. —
The radiation treatments are 5 days a week and we’re continuing the chemo as well. Chemo is every Monday, proof that Monday’s are cursed even if you’re not in your office.
So I finished a radiation treatment Monday and went into my little room for Chemo. I’m used to it by now: In goes the IV, up goes the bag, down goes the juice. Next bag. Next bag. Few bags later, we’re done.
At the end of Chemo, they also gave me a flu shot. I know I’ve gone through a lot in this, but the childhood fear of shots still means that I am more apprehensive about the shot than all the rest of this crap. It’s strange how our mind works.
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There is one part of this whole treatment process that I’m a bit chagrined about. I’ve taken up needle point. Not that kind of needle point that you’re think of. I’m not knitting or anything (could you imagine me knitting?). No, I’ve started acupuncture.
During acupuncture, I like to think that the doctor is doing needle point on me. Its more accurately reflects my attitude toward the nature of the situation.
Now, you should know something about me. I’m not much of a believer in things like acupuncture. In fact, I don’t really believe in much medicine that my childhood pediatrician didn’t teach me about – especially any of this “new fangled stuff” like acupuncture (note: acupuncture has been around since 2000BCE but whatever).
So I go in there and they put in the needles and leave me for 20 minutes with some calm music. What the heck am I supposed to do for the 20 minutes? Think? I tried once to reach for my blackberry but the doctor wasn’t too fond of that idea. So I wait.
Why am I doing acupuncture? Well, some studies have shown that it can help minimize the side effects of radiation. I don’t know if I believe it, but at this point, why not try, right?
Tomorrow is Friday – last radiation of the week. It’s day 10. After I am done, I go over for needle point. On we go.
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