Go For The Burn

So, I'm three for three on the cancer docs.  I met The Burn for the first time today, and we really clicked.  She's my radiation oncologist -- the chick in charge of my remaining treatment, once The Dutchman finally breaks it off with me.  Nothing we talked about, this morning, will firm up until The Dutchman says so, but I expect that my date with him on April 29 will be our last.  Assuming that's true, here's what else I can expect.

Thanx to the hefty hogans, I'm in for 30 radiation treatments.  That's 25 for the booby, and 5 for the scar.  (If I had a reduced rack, it would have been only 20.  Quel dommage.)  Radiation technicians apparently work bankers' hours, 'cause it'll be five consecutive days, with weekends off for good behaviour.  My rusty math says that's six weeks in treatment.

Once I'm officially done with surgery, I can start on the daily 20mg of Tamoxifen, as The Burn doesn't mind if I take it during treatment.  Bring on the hot flashes and the weight gain:  pseudo-menopause at its finest, unless I'm one of the lucky ones who doesn't experience those side effects.  Seriously, this is me:  what are the chances?

And only after The Dutchman signs me off can I schedule the beginning of 'rads' (listen to me, all down with the medical jargon).  But The Burn says between six and eight weeks post-surgery I need to be under the beams.  And I'm the girl who does what she's told -- at least by her doctors.  That's how I ended up here, remember?  The first appointment will be for a CT scan, and to design my treatment plan.  After that, we go live.

Looks like I'm guaranteed a sunburn, this summer.