I recently hit a rough patch in my treatment. My latest progression of cancer has spread to my esophagus and at least one lymph node. The radiation oncologist proposed 10 sessions of radiation to treat the latest metastases. The approval process from my insurance company took weeks and involved back-and-forth communication and peer-to-peer discussions between my doctor and the insurance company before the sessions could be scheduled.
Radiation treatment was the strangest thing. I started by going in for a “mapping” or “simulation” session. During this appointment, I was positioned on a narrow table and scans were taken to pinpoint the exact area to be radiated. Then the techs gave me a few freckle-size tattoos to ensure that I was in same position for each session. Next, they draped my torso with a sheet of warm, wet plastic-like mesh and let it dry and harden. It formed a sort of cage to further ensure that the radiation went to the right place. The whole session took maybe 30 minutes.
The individual sessions were quick. Each time they brought me into the treatment room, asked my name, date of birth, and which area was being treated. I wish now that I had given some smart-a$$ response about the area to be radiated. What an opportunity I missed. Oh, well, maybe next time. Once I was on the table, they scooted me around until I was positioned correctly, strapped the torso-cage thing over me, covered me with a warm blanket, and then left the room. The machine buzzed and moved from side to side and after about five minutes, the techs came back into the room, said “Okay, all done,” and that was that. Repeat daily for a total of 10 sessions.
While the actual radiation sessions were easy, the daily trips to the cancer center got old. I felt for those who had 30-plus sessions. Although the radiation itself didn’t hurt, the cumulative effect began to wear on me. I was told to expect fatigue and possible nausea. I was also told that I’d initially feel better, but then I’d feel worse and might think the treatment hadn’t worked. They weren’t kidding!
Before I started the rads (an expression we cancer folks use for brevity) I was already having issues swallowing and had lost about 15 pounds. Toward the end of rads, I started having more trouble swallowing and it got worse from there. I developed a middle-ear infection which made swallowing so painful that it was easier not to eat or drink anything. After a few days of that, I ended up in urgent care for IV hydration and antibiotics.
I don’t think I realized how bad I felt until I started to feel better. My urgent care visit was on Wednesday and by Sunday, I was feeling so much better that I got up and started to do laundry. Who knew that doing laundry would spark such feelings of elation? I’m up! I’m off the couch! Life is wonderful! I think I even did a little dance in the kitchen to celebrate.
The other thing I didn’t realize was how hard this was on my husband. When someone we love is suffering, it’s natural to want to fix it. Unfortunately, this is one of those times when there is nothing he can do except watch and imagine what I’m experiencing. He can’t stop my pain or take it upon himself. He’s a bystander, helpless to stop the effects of the disease and its inevitable outcome.
I think, in some way, I have the easier side of this. I don’t have to watch someone else suffer, imagine what they’re feeling and experience that helplessness. I can take an anti-nausea pill, curl up on the couch with a blanket, and hope I can slip into the arms of Morpheus. (If you don’t know who Morpheus is, look him up.)
While I’m grateful not to be on the “watching” side of this, I still feel guilt for the pain my disease has caused others. We don’t get to choose which side we’re on and since I know I can’t change these circumstances, I just need to let the guilt go.
To those of you who are following us as we ride this roller coaster, thank you for caring and thank you for the love that you are pouring out on both my husband and me. We are forever grateful.
Carol
Cancer has progressed to my bones. I pray that it never enters my soul.
Carol, I’m so glad to hear swallowing is getting better. Thank you for sharing your earnest and detailed descriptions of your journey. I’m really glad that laundry prompted you to do a dance, that made me smile. Sending you and Marty a giant hug Mariana
Carol, This is Anne. Bobby shares your notes with me. Thank you for sharing your experiences with us. It is so frustrating to not have the words or the ability to offer relief for you. Just know we are thinking of you and you are our hero. Anne and Bob Rast
Thank you, Anne. Your words mean the world to me. I’m so thankful for friends like you and Bobby! 💕
Carol, This is Anne. Bobby shares your notes with me. Cancer will never have your soul. Thank you for sharing. It is so frustrating to not have the words or deeds to comfort you. Please know you are my hero. Sincerely, Anne
There is a different pain when someone is on the other side with a loved one in physical pain. Thank you Marty for taking such good care of Carol at all times. You can always call me if you need extra help (I had to correct a typo that said to call me for extra health, I wish I could do that).
Hi Carol, thanks again for letting us, all your friends, know how you are doing and expressing both facts and emotions in such a beautiful and honest way.
Maryann
Love you, Aunt Carol 💖 This blog has been such a gift. I am so grateful to you for sharing your journey with us.
Sending love and hugs to both you and Marty. You’re right that both sides of the equation are difficult — wish you two didn’t have to deal with either side though. ❤️
Sending prayers for you and Marty.
Thank you!
Thinking of you!
I hope you can swallow well now, Carol. Hope you are looking forward to gaining weight!
Dear Carol and Marty,
Sending our love ❤️ and prayers. I would like to be on your email list. Thank you for sharing with your friends. Vicki and Ken.
Thank you, Vicki. I’ll send you a PM via FB to get your email address. Love and hugs to you and Ken.
Thank you. Things are getting better with my swallowing, thankfully.
Dearest Carol,
Thank you for your words and the courage it takes to share. You inspire.
Sending you and Marty so much LOVE!
xox Lisa Loftus
Thank you, Lisa! Love and hugs to you and Tod!
Lots of hugs, lots of prayers, dear Carol
You’re giving us the real picture of both sides and it sounds rough alright, Carol. Sending you love from a heart full of sympathy ❤️🩹 and prayers🙏🏽
Thank you, Linda.
Sending love to you and Marty, dear friend.
Thank you, Daralee. Marty and I appreciate your prayers and your love. Sending them back to you and Les.
Carol, you are a brave lady. Many prayers for you !!!
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you, Leann. What would I do without my friends?