Stick A Fork In Me...I'm Done.

After I've got the kids off to school, grabbed a quick bite to eat and jumped into the shower, my Monday morning routine begins:

10:17am:  Fill up Starbucks travel mug with coffee, grab keys and head out the door. 
10:19am: Make sure all necessities for the ride to the hospital are situated (coffee mug in the drink holder, cellphone within reach, etc.). Put on seat belt, turn on seat warmer and pull out of driveway.
10:20-10:55am: Scan radio through lots of crap-tacular music because I forgot my iPod...again.  
10:56-10:57am: Curse 2-3 elderly people for causing a back up in the parking garage, putting me a precious 1-2 minutes behind schedule.
10:58am: Park in one of the spots designated for 'Special Permit Passes Only'. Walk {very fast, now that I'm running late} down the ramp to the entrance of the DeCesaris Cancer Center. 
10:59:55am: Sign in and wait for name to be called.
11:00am: Doors to the treatment area swing open as the nurse appears and heads towards the front desk to grab my sign-in sticker. "Mrs. Minakowski, you can come on back."
11:01am: Most days, head straight back to the treatment room. Other days, wait in the "on deck" chair (this is the seat designated for the next in line to be zapped). Everyday while heading back to the treatment room, answer the question, "Any changes?" -- referring to (1) the treated area, (2) prescriptions and (3) insurance.
11:02am: Remove all clothing from the waist up, grab a towel, state my name/D.O.B. and lay down on the treatment couch (sounds comfy, eh? well, if you find laying on a cold, hard, narrow board comfortable -- then, yes...yes it is).
11:03am: Fred, the radiation therapist, makes a joke about how I don't have any fat on my ribs to move around in order to line-up my tattoos to the proper treatment coordinates.
11:05am: All machine adjustments have been made, the technician records all prep info and they're ready to treat. 
11:06am: The B-52's, Love Shack, which is the song on the hospital loop during my zap time, is cranked up on the overhead speakers just as the first low pitch "beeeeeeeep" begins.
11:15am: All five angles to my breast, chest and lymph areas have been radiated. Remove arms out of the holders above my head. Resume chewing gum that has been tucked into the side of my cheek for the past 10 minutes.
11:16am: Put bra and shirt back on and head out of the treatment room. Before exiting the room, engage in the the same exchange of pleasantries with the radiation therapist -- Me: "See you tomorrow." Fred: "Same time, same place. Have a good one."
11:20-11:57am: Drive home. Scan radio through more crap-tacular music -- make mental note to remember iPod tomorrow.

Repeat said schedule...

...Tuesday morning, Wednesday morning, Thursday morning  and Friday morning for six weeks. 

Daily routine? Sounds more like a prison sentence -- I guess you could call it my "cancer sentence". And the crime for which this sentence was handed down to me? Possession's charge. No, not for an illegal gun or a dime bag of marijuana --but, for possession of cancerous cells in my lymph nodes.  

There it is -- the 1cm mass in my armpit that upon its discovery had me on the phone with my doctor demanding a mammogram STAT

In all fairness, the cancerous mass in my right axilla wasn't the sole contributor to my cancer sentence, other factors were involved. But, it was that pea-sized mass that 'muddied' the picture, as my radiation oncologist explained, making radiation a necessary part of my active treatment.

And, it's that necessary part of my cancer sentence that potentially wreaks havoc on your body. You wouldn't believe the laundry list of complications that can occur from just a minute and a half of daily radiation. I won't bore you with the complete list -- even I started to zone out when my doctor started discussing the less than 1% chance of complications that could develop. But, when she started talking about the possibilities of ruining my reconstruction efforts - my ears perked up (did I mention how painful it was to pump this bad girl up? For those of you who missed my previous post -- let's just say, lots of muscle relaxers and narcotics were needed to ease that pain). 

Thankfully, I've only had to deal with some minor skin issues. Radiation causes the treated area to react much like it would from a bad sunburn -- redness, with itching, soreness and peeling. Sure, it's uncomfortable -- but coming from a girl who used baby oil as sunscreen back in her teenage years --it's nothing.

It's what's going on underneath the skin that causes the most agony. A little blistery skin pales in comparison to the discomfort that comes from the scarred tissue around my breast and armpit from these power zaps. To help ease the tightness and pain, I do my post-mastectomy exercises continuously throughout the day...at any given moment, I can be seen dropping to the floor into a praying position or "walking the wall" to stretch out the boobs and pits. Once a week, I go see Susan, my physical therapist, who makes me feel so good by the time she gets done with me. Not only do her massages and stretches help redirect the lymph fluid that sometimes gets confused which direction to go, but improves the blood flow to my breast and armpit as well. All this, in the hopes, that once treatment is complete, all the damage to my tissue will heal...and that my gift from Santa will be delivered on time:

Do you think it would be too much to ask Santa to throw in a couple inches of hair as well? (for my head, not my breasts, of course)

Anyway, despite all the negative impacts that radiotherapy can cause on your body. There are good things that come from this part of my treatment...really, really good things. Like when radiation is complete, I will have destroyed any lingering cancerous cells that haven't gotten the memo that the party is over. Even better, I get to begin living a life that is cancer-free. 

So, I continue to serve out my sentence -- although, I'll never live down this charge. Cancer goes on your permanent record. 

And then, stick a fork in me because I'm done. I've suffered through the chemical cocktails, had my breast hacked off and now, I am four zaps short of being sufficiently radiated. Well, at least I know what I will be for Halloween this year....

...Radioactive Kitty

Me-OW!

Nine months ago, I entered the ring with the big "C". On that day,  I claimed that I wouldn't leave the arena without a KO under my belt. Well, on November 1st, the coup de grâce (a right cross to the carcinoma) will be delivered and it's me who will be lifting the championship belt over my head declaring victory.

Cancer, you never stood a chance!