Radiation normally happens like this:

I lay on the table with my left arm up and my head tilted right and the techs line my tattoos up to red and green light markers that shine down from the ceiling. The table I lay on moves up and down and front to back. If I’m off from side to side, then they slowly pull the sheet under me while reminding me not to help. Everything is adjusted in millimeters. Once I’m lined up, I have to take a deep breath in and hold it so they can take a computer snapshot for reference. Then they leave the room. The machine arm above me moves slightly to the right and I can hear and see the screen adjusting for the beam. Soon I can hear the nurse telling me to take a deep breath and hold it, and the machine turns on. There is no light, only sound and it lasts 20-25 seconds. When the sound stops, I know I can breathe again before they tell me I can.

Then the techs come back in because they need to put a towel and “bolus” on me, which is a sheet of rubbery material that is supposed to make up for my lost breast tissue. We have to do another deep breath snapshot and sometimes tape the bolus down to make sure it doesn’t slip. If all looks well, then they leave and the machine rotates further to the right. We do two deep breath holds in this position, each shorter than the initial one. The sound changes on these. The first is higher pitched than the second. When they’re done, the machine moves over me and around way to the left. If the bolus has moved, the techs come back in and we do another adjustment. If the bolus hasn’t moved with my breathing, we do one more round here and we’re done. By this time, my arm aches and my hand is numb because through it all, I can’t move. Once, without thinking, I crossed my feet in between rounds and they had to completely readjust me.

Today, as we finished the second one on the right, the machine didn’t move. I lay still, waiting. And waiting. Finally, a tech comes in and says the sensor is acting up and she needs to move it manually. It moves in spurts. Finally, it’s in position and she leaves. We continue. I take a deep breath and hold but there is no sound. Soon they tell me I can breathe but not move. I wait. Eventually, they come back in and say the machine still isn’t working correctly and they called someone in to look at it. They ask my doctor about adding the last round to tomorrow’s treatment while the machine is being checked.

Ultimately, I’m given the option to wait for the machine to reboot or have one more round tomorrow. At that point, I said it didn’t matter, so we wait the 11 minutes for a reboot. The manager comes in to apologize and explain what’s going on. We make small talk and after another readjustment, we are ready to go. Only we don’t.

After all that, the machine wasn’t fixed, so I have to have an extra round tomorrow. I’m assuming the machine will be fixed overnight. I’m not loving the idea that my health is dependent upon this fallible machinery, but here we are. The curtain has been pulled back. Now I know it’s not magic. But you know what I’m thankful for? The device is so precise that it won’t work if it’s not right. That my techs are not only skilled, but legitimately nice. That we were almost done, so I can make it up tomorrow without issue. Fingers crossed this was the only blip I’ll have going forward.

Well, I was right about my wrist problem. It is De Quervain’s. But I was wrong about the solution. Since it wasn’t getting better, I called my doctor who referred me to an orthopedic clinic where I went this morning. The hand and wrist specialist said that at the stage my wrist was, the splint would no longer work. He did a cortisone shot instead. All I can say is, Ouch.

The upside is that after a couple of days, the shot usually is 90% effective at relieving the symptoms and 50% effective at curing the problem. If it doesn’t cure it, the next step is surgery, so I’m really hoping for a cure. In the meantime, I’ll be thankful for pain relief.

I’m also thankful to have my first radiation appointment done. It was a little longer than it should normally be since they did a little tweaking again. Apparently I hold my breath too deeply. Go figure. At least I won’t need to worry about not being able to hold it long enough. It was fine. Plus they had to draw the radiation parameters on my skin for pictures. I never realized how often Sharpies are used in the medical field. Another go figure. One nice thing about it is that I can see where I need to apply lotion. And it’s way further under my arm than I anticipated.

So, here’s to another day of being poked and prodded but in the right direction. The countdown to Nov 4, my last treatment day, begins!

I got a call from my radiation oncologist’s office today with a last minute request to come in for X-rays this afternoon. It was the last step needed before radiation starts tomorrow. I’m scheduled from now through November 4th.

The X-rays were done in the treatment room, so I was able to get an idea of what my treatments will be like. The ceiling is designed to looks like a glass ceiling with the sky and tree branches visible. Music was playing. It was really nice. The techs and I jokes that we just needed someone to deliver margaritas.

I’m thankful I got radiation scheduled. I’m also thankful I got a glimpse of what my daily visits will look like. I think I’m ready. I have skin lotions, protein shakes, and intend to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate (my plastic surgeon’s suggestion).

I had my radiation planning session today. It involved a lot of laying down and being still. Not my best posture.

The hardest part of the hour and a half was keeping my arm raised. Even though I had it in an arm rest like in the picture below, my hand still fell asleep and my tight chest muscles burned.

Part of the process was getting CT scans while in this position that will be used by the radiation team to plan my upcoming procedures. A few times I needed to hold my breath, which will be part of my sessions. Holding my breath will help minimize the radiation effects to my heart as much as possible.

The final part for today was tattooing small black marks on my chest that will be used to position me in the same spot every session. That hurt more than I expected it to. I’m not sure how I feel about having permanent black spots on my chest, but it’s better than permanent cancer. So there’s that.

I’m thankful that things went well today, and I’m hopeful that I can start radiation next week.