Ow, Ow, Ooo, Ow

I had my 20th treatment today.  If the tatas were tinier, I'd be done now.  But I've got five more for the breast, and an additional five for the scar to go.  And I'm crisping up nicely.  What was pink is now red.  What was sensitive is now sore.  What was smooth is now broken.  The official word is "second degree burn".

Comfort is now defined as stillness.  If I don't move, I avoid the drag of skin against skin.  And it's way more comfortable to be braless than encumbered by lingerie;  as a result, except for trips to treatment, I'm trapped at home!

I feel something like a turkey.  Four times a day, I'm basting myself in saline solution, Lubriderm and -- new today -- burn ointment containing antibiotics.  Kinda curtails the social life, even without the relaxed dress code.  The Burn told me, today, that it'll take 10 days to two weeks for the inflamed skin to heal, once they're done frying me.  The countdown is well and truly on!

The Loneliness of the Long-distance Cancer Patient

Truthfully, at least in my case, there's no such thing.  Every day I have a treatment, I am reminded that I have more people in my corner than I have any right to.  The second half of the radiation rotation is full up -- and, unbelievably, I have a waiting list.

The team in Unit 10 is getting used to me having a new chaperone, each visit.  On the occasions when my date for the day is a man -- and, therefore, doesn't venture into the treatment room to see me topless -- the technicians always want to know whether I have a friend along.  I think it'd be as big a disappointment to them as it would be to me to venture in alone.

Starting today, the remaining play list looks like this:

The Communicator
Jockette*
Dollar Girl
Hollywood*
Marathon Girl*
The Free Agent*
Helmet-head
Miguel
My Fair Lady
The Source
G20
Dynamo
The Bride*
Skipper
Lucy's Aunt

* it's round two for these brave souls

The Frying Game

Apparently, pink is my colour, after all.  Halfway through treatment and I'm glowing like a beacon... or is that sizzling like bacon?!  The Burn says I'm about where I should expect to be, at this point, from which I take hea(r)t.

I swear my breast has had more attention in the last 10 months than it has in the previous 10 years.  These days, it's morning and night saline soaks followed by rubdowns with Lubriderm for Sensitive Skin (waterbased, don'tyaknow).  My left side is feeling distinctly envious.

Seems a shame to let all this radiant energy go to waste.  While I'm on leave from work, I might just explore the crime-fighting potential of my new alter ego:  Lobster Girl!

Boobylicious

I'm more than a third done.  Less than four weeks to go and radiation will be history.  So, it's not too soon to plan the party!  Invitations went out tonight.  If you didn't get one, and you're a regular reader of this odd little effort, don't be shy;  get in touch and tell me so.  I'll right the wrong and add you to the list.

Corks will be popped.  Fun will be had.  Cleavage will be displayed.

Support and Lack Thereof

I'm into week two -- today's treatment was my sixth -- and 20% of the way through treatment.

Today, I ditched the underwires.  Any pretense of perkiness is past.  I am now the less-than-proud owner of two industrial -- that is to say matronly -- bras the colour and texture of Tensor bandages.  Murphy's Law being what it is, I'll be wearing one of these hot numbers when I am rescued from my next traffic accident.  No dates with emergency health care professionals will ensue.

But though I am inadequately supported by what my Mum would call my foundation garments, my amazing posse of friends are lifting me up in all the right ways.  My daily treatments are turning out to be a series of delightful social engagements, rather than an ordeal to endure.  The schedule for the next eight days includes:

• The Free Agent
• The Yank
• The Mogul
• Jockette
• Flygirl
• Pecos
• Spinner
• The BFF

That'll see me halfway done, which seems remarkable.  And at the end of it all, perhaps I'll host a 70's-style bra burning!

Peggy Lee Was Here

Two down:  twenty-eight to go.

The experience of being radiated is about as stress-free as a cancer treatment could possibly be.  I check in by scanning my UPC-coded appointment card (hereafter, the EZ-pass), which indicates to the team that I am in the waiting room (and displays to me whether Unit 10 -- of the 18 treatment rooms, that one will be mine throughout -- is running on time), and sit.  But not for long;  I'm called within five minutes.

After changing into the ubiquitous gown (stripped from the waist up only), I'm accompanied directly to the Unit.  Right arm out of right sleeve, I lie down on the bed of the linear accelerator, with my head at the business end.  The bed is set up exactly as it was for my CT scan -- bolster at my hips, right arm supports above my right shoulder.  The team (two technicians and a student) call out and confirm coordinates, positioning me so that the tattoos and the laser beams all line up the way they should.  When everything's in place, they leave me.  It's only then that I notice music is playing -- agreeable, recognizable music, rather than the tinkly water-over-rocks nonsense:  it's not a spa, after all.

As they watch me on the monitors outside the Unit, the head of the accelerator (which is within a foot of me) rotates from its default position above me to a position to the right and below my right breast -- so the beam will shoot through the right side of my breast and avoid my rib cage and its contents.  A couple of clicks and a little whirring noise indicate that the apperture is open and positioned, and a few seconds of buzzing later, the head swings way over to the left -- the better to go at me from the other side.  The same noises repeat in sequence, then the "On the Air" sign clicks off, and the worker bees swarm in to undo all their careful positioning, only to do it all again tomorrow.

The gown reinstalled, it's off to the change room.  A flat twenty minutes after swiping my card, I'm back in the waiting room.  If that's all there is, my friend, then let's keep dancing.

The Radiation Rotation

Thank goodness I'm getting 30 treatments.  Any fewer and I wouldn't have enough to go 'round.  25 of my friends want to accompany me to an appointment, which means only five will have to pull double duty.  The calendar is still taking shape, but week one will feature:

• Trailblazer
• The Groom
• Showgirl
• Marathon Girl

Next week's schedule already includes:

• Hollywood
• Bella Cucina
• The Bride 

And more are being confirmed all the time.  How'd I get so stupid lucky?