I arrived at the radiation treatment facility about thirty minutes early. In the waiting room, I sat and listened to others having conversations. I was surprised to smell cigarette smoke on someone in the midst of people waiting to have treatment for Cancer. I was irritated! Some people just don't get it. A thin, obviously very ill man walked into the waiting room as he coughed and hacked. I knew that chest rattle well. He reeked of cigarette smoke and the smell made me nauseous. There's another one, I thought to myself. If only they understood. They have power to better their odds of living by quitting their nicotine habit. I moved to the other side of the room. I can't stand to smell cigarette smoke any more. Since my father died of lung cancer, even the slightest smell of a cigarette brings back bad memories.
Engrossed in a magazine, I didn't hear my name when it was called. The woman beside me asked if I were Mrs. Annis. I politely smiled at her and got up to go with the waiting nurse. She led me to the dressing area and told me to remove everything from the waist up and put on the gown. When I was ready, she took me into the radiation room.
Inside the radiation room were two radiology technicians. They assisted me in getting onto the narrow table and got me situated into my personal foam mold. They had draped a sheet over the mold to facilitate repositioning me. The lights were dimmed and the machine was brought over my chest. I was pulled and pushed into the perfect position as one tech grabbed the sheet on one side of me and the other tech was opposite her. Once I was correctly aligned underneath the laser beams, several xrays were taken and then one of the techs came over and said, "okay now, your first treatment will begin. We're going to place a warm, wet towel over your chest and the radiation beams will pass through this. This is called bolus. It can be applied to the skin to alter the dose received both at depth in the tissue and on the skin surface. It is used often for post-mastectomy chest wall treatment, to increase the skin dose. You won't feel anything other than the towel's wetness and weight. You'll hear a whirring and some clicking, but other than that, you won't feel or see anything."
The radiology techs walked out of the room but assured me they could see and hear me. If I needed anything at all, I was to call out to them. The machine began to whirr and move around my body. I was told to remain completely still at all times. My arms were hurting as they were stretched above my head for the treatment. I made a mental note to myself to work on some stretching exercises to help loosen up that skin and tissue in the days ahead. Fifteen minutes later, I was done and the techs were helping me up off the table.
The nurse was waiting for me at the door and took me to the scale. As I stepped up, she said, "now don't be going on a diet or anything for the next several weeks. We don't want you losing any weight. Your body is going to get weaker in the days ahead and you will need all your strength." Wow. That's the first time I've ever had a doctor's office tell me NOT to worry about losing weight!
We went into an exam room and the doctor came in to talk with me. She asked how I was feeling and explained that every Monday I would meet with both she and the nurse. They would check my general health but also closely monitor my skin. She explained that they would also watch my right rib, lung, and my liver because the radiation could cause some definite changes. One of the main things they were concerned about was damage to my right lung. She explained that they would also be targeting lymph nodes in my neck and shoulder area and may even go up into my throat. This could cause some changes in my vocal abilities. I sat there and listened intently, trying to remember everything she'd said. As we wrapped up our conversation, she handed me a prescription for Radiaplex, a special type of gel that would need to be applied 3 times a day to the radiated area.
On my way home, I was emotionally numb. It had been a lot to process although I hadn't experienced any physical pain. My cell phone was buzzing with messages coming in and there were several missed calls and Facebook messages. While I'm thankful to have so many people who love and care about me, I just didn't feel like rehashing the events of the day over and over again. I turned it on silent and slipped it back into my purse.
I looked at the clock when I got home. It was 12:30 p.m. and I realized I hadn't had lunch yet. As I was preparing my lunch, the house phone rang and just a few minutes later, my cell phone was ringing. Oh my goodness! "Can't people just leave me alone for a little while?" I thought. I am not used to having sensory overload... I realized at the moment that I was suffering from PTSD, (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), a very common occurrence after Breast Cancer. Medical dictionaries describe it as an anxiety disorder that can be brought on by a traumatic event. Symptoms include:
- nightmares or flashbacks about the cancer experience (yes)
- continuously focusing on the cancer experience (yes)
- avoiding people, places, and events that remind you of the experience (yes)
- trouble sleeping (yes)
- extreme irritableness (yes)
- intense feelings of fear (yes)
- being overly excitable (yes)
- feeling helpless or hopeless (yes)
- shame or guilty feelings (yes)
- bouts of crying (yes)
- feeling emotionally numb (yes)
- sadness or depression (yes)
- loss of appetite
- trouble maintaining personal relationships (yes)
- self-destructive behavior (alcohol or drug abuse, for example)
- memory problems (yes)
- concentration problems (yes)
- being startled or frightened easily (yes)
- getting no joy from activities you used to enjoy (yes)
- hallucinations
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