I can’t believe I have completed six days of radiation therapy already. That means only 19 days to go. Last treatment is scheduled for September 12th. And I have done nothing that I wanted to do, like take my laptop and go to a coffee shop to write for awhile after therapy. There have been a lot of busy days, a lot of disorganized days, and a number of painful days, but one way or another it just hasn’t happened yet.
But I want to whine a little, even though I know I have no real grounds for whining. Radiation therapy is nowhere near as enjoyable as chemotherapy was. Now I know chemo can be hell for a lot of people, but it wasn’t for me. It was somewhere I went once a week to spend a few hours in a recliner reading, writing, chatting, while being taken care of by the nicest nurses. In contrast, radiation therapy is a rapidly moving assembly line. First, it is every single day. Each session lasts from 15 to 45 minutes depending on whether or not they want ex-rays (which they seem to have wanted more often than not). I not only don’t get a comfortable recliner, I get squished into a cardboard-like mold to hold me still in the most uncomfortable of positions. And I’m not allowed to move. If I wiggle my toes a voice comes through the speaker telling me to keep my foot still.
Note that part about the voice through the speaker. There are two techs who take care of me every day, but that consists of asking my birth date, then tugging me into position on the table while speaking to each other in numbers. “98.” “73.” My primary relationship in this therapy is with a large machine that rotates around me while I lie on a table.
Once I am squished into that position, suddenly I itch in all sorts of places. My wedding ring feels like it has slipped too far down on my finger and really needs to be moved NOW. I suddenly realized that my muscles had been tense, which had lifted my back slightly off the table when they positioned me, and now it really wants to relax. Then even though it’s an open machine, as the larger part revolves to where it is above me, there is a moment of claustrophobic panic. But most of all, it’s uncomfortable. Even though they presumably made this mold around my body the first time I went in, there are ridges where ridges should not be, and there are parts that were just never comfortable to begin with.
Perhaps coincidentally, I developed a pain in my left neck and shoulder around the fourth day of therapy. I will admit I don’t have a high tolerance for pain in the first place, but this is a very painful pain. Occasionally it has been painful enough that it has made me want to vomit. During the day it is somewhat relieved, and even occasionally subsides completely, with large doses of Motrin. But at night it always becomes severe, and is not relieved however much Motrin I take. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for five days and it has gotten to the point where I am actually afraid to try to sleep, because I don’t want to wake up in pain.
Not due to the radiation, the techs told me. The area of pain is immediately above the area they irradiate but not within the field. But they suggested I tell the doctor when I see him on Friday anyway, which I will. It could be due to spending large amounts of time in unnatural and uncomfortable positions, they said. So maybe I can blame radiation. But on the other hand, it could also be from picking up my grandson wrong, or from sleeping in a strange position. Goodness knows I have tried to figure out how to improve my sleeping position, but that has been difficult considering the fact that moving even a fraction of an inch causes great, shooting pain. I have kind of self diagnosed it as maybe a pinched nerve in my neck, although the muscles were quite tender when my daughter tried to massage the area, and I’m not sure if that would happen with a pinched nerve. But whatever it is, it hurts, and I am tired of it, and when I lie there in those odd positions for radiation, my shoulder starts to hurt and I think, oh no, this is making it worse, but there is nothing I can do about it.
Then, too, I have thought about pain itself. I have thought about those I know who have died of cancer, who have reached excruciating levels of pain in the process of dying. And I think, I can’t even tolerate a little shoulder and neck pain.
So far I have been just as tired from radiation as from chemotherapy, even before the pain in my shoulder started robbing me of my sleep at night. I was taking three or four naps a day before I started being afraid to lie down.
But it’s just a really impersonal treatment. It’s annoying, uncomfortable, and lonely.
I guess it’s going to be up to me to transform the experience. Twenty percent of the treatments are finished now. I hope I don’t waste the rest of this time.