All the pamphlets and websites that are recommended to read prior to radiation, try to sugarcoat the experience. This is the real deal and hopefully you will never have to go under the gamma rays. Doing this day after day, I had a routine, but it didn't make it any easier. When I would go inside the cancer center, I had a small bag with me. Inside that bag was: my Radiation ID card, my iPod, an eye mask, a bottle of water and a book (which I never got to read, but bought just in case).
The first thing I did was to scan my ID card which opened the door for patients to go back to the locker room. There I would change into a gown, and then go to the waiting area to try to watch "House Hunters". Most of the time, I was the only one there, but before I could even sit down one of the Rad. Team people would come get me. They led me down the hall, passing a wall full of monitors, and finally through an enormous metal door, into a room that resembled a planetarium.
Inside this over-sized room, it was dark but had recessed lighting so you could find your way around. It was filled with all kinds of crazy, expensive high-tech equipment and cameras. The ceiling was dotted with glowing stars that made up a mini solar system. Maybe if I wouldn't have been so nervous, I could've tried to relax and find the Big Dipper. And in the middle of it all was a long table that was controlled by the touch of a button. Above that was a vast circular device in which the table slid into, it was hollow and Sci-Fy fans could easily mistake it for portal into another dimension.
On the cold metal table I would lie down onto a pillow specifically designed for me. A team of people spoke their "radiation language"then guided me to lie flat on my back as they striped me of my gown; my only shield from the unknown. I put on my eye mask so that I couldn't see. Then I put my earphones in and pushed play on my Ipod so I couldn't hear. From that point on I was told not to move. Trying not to move was so hard.
The Rad.Team people would push and pull me side to side, and up and down until I was in the exact position. Next, they pushed the button that moved the table upward. However, my sense of direction was absent due to my inability to "see" or "hear" and suddenly, I felt as if I was being lowered into a grave. Then the Rad. Team people exited the room. I really felt that there just was not enough air to breathe, like I was being tortured in some kind of intricate way. Now, I was in panic mode. Just kill me already!
Radiation time was usually only 10 minutes, time enough to listen to 3 songs. Under this "Star Gate" portal apparatus, it was loud. It was spinning and flashing and somehow I was becoming very dizzy, sweaty and very close to jumping off of the table and making a run for it. I felt so uncomfortable, so claustraphobic. This 10 minutes felt like 10 years of my life. During this time it was very difficult to see this as a good thing. I just wanted it to be over.
There were a few times in which I just sat up and yelled "I can't do this!" They would then come in to try and comfort me, (it seemed phony) really they just wanted me to be done so they could go to lunch. Even with my husband in the next room, it wasn't enough for me to be able to just do what I needed to do, which was to lie still. I would say it got easier each time, but it didn't. Actually, it got worse, because I knew what to expect. Saturdays and Sundays were my only break, because even after I finished one treatment, I just dreaded the next.
After about 3 weeks, the evidence of radiation became very evident- Burn marks and peeling and discoloration. My skin became very tight and itchy. During this time, I was also not allowed to use my regular lotions, shower gels or deodorant. By this point in my cancer treatment, all the calls of concern and support, from friends and family had ceased. They assumed I was good, but I didn't feel like me. I didn't want to be me. I was in this alone and began to understand how easy it would be to slip into a deep depression.
Following each treatment I had about an hour, maybe 2 before I could just not keep my eyes open any longer. It felt as if I'd pulled an "all nighter" or three, went to sleep and then was forced to wake up again. I felt this way ALL the time! So I would nap for a few hours until the kids came home from school. Then I would literally have to drag myself off of the couch and carry on with my day, however after dinner I was back on the couch, beyond exhausted, beyond frusterated.
The treatments became more difficult as the burns became worse and the exhaustion became almost too much to handle for a person like me who's always on the go. Then one day, November 1, 2012, I completed my final radiation treatment. My husband, as well as the entire Rad. Team were present as I read the poem and rang the bell, that signified treatment was over. There were no words.
The Rad.Team people would push and pull me side to side, and up and down until I was in the exact position. Next, they pushed the button that moved the table upward. However, my sense of direction was absent due to my inability to "see" or "hear" and suddenly, I felt as if I was being lowered into a grave. Then the Rad. Team people exited the room. I really felt that there just was not enough air to breathe, like I was being tortured in some kind of intricate way. Now, I was in panic mode. Just kill me already!
Radiation time was usually only 10 minutes, time enough to listen to 3 songs. Under this "Star Gate" portal apparatus, it was loud. It was spinning and flashing and somehow I was becoming very dizzy, sweaty and very close to jumping off of the table and making a run for it. I felt so uncomfortable, so claustraphobic. This 10 minutes felt like 10 years of my life. During this time it was very difficult to see this as a good thing. I just wanted it to be over.
There were a few times in which I just sat up and yelled "I can't do this!" They would then come in to try and comfort me, (it seemed phony) really they just wanted me to be done so they could go to lunch. Even with my husband in the next room, it wasn't enough for me to be able to just do what I needed to do, which was to lie still. I would say it got easier each time, but it didn't. Actually, it got worse, because I knew what to expect. Saturdays and Sundays were my only break, because even after I finished one treatment, I just dreaded the next.
After about 3 weeks, the evidence of radiation became very evident- Burn marks and peeling and discoloration. My skin became very tight and itchy. During this time, I was also not allowed to use my regular lotions, shower gels or deodorant. By this point in my cancer treatment, all the calls of concern and support, from friends and family had ceased. They assumed I was good, but I didn't feel like me. I didn't want to be me. I was in this alone and began to understand how easy it would be to slip into a deep depression.
Following each treatment I had about an hour, maybe 2 before I could just not keep my eyes open any longer. It felt as if I'd pulled an "all nighter" or three, went to sleep and then was forced to wake up again. I felt this way ALL the time! So I would nap for a few hours until the kids came home from school. Then I would literally have to drag myself off of the couch and carry on with my day, however after dinner I was back on the couch, beyond exhausted, beyond frusterated.
The treatments became more difficult as the burns became worse and the exhaustion became almost too much to handle for a person like me who's always on the go. Then one day, November 1, 2012, I completed my final radiation treatment. My husband, as well as the entire Rad. Team were present as I read the poem and rang the bell, that signified treatment was over. There were no words.
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