Today was a very long day. While Tim is enjoying his 30 year high school reunion, I spent the day at MD Anderson. We’ll get to the torture chambers in a minute.
I saw the radiation nurse and oncologist, who showed me a video and described all the ins and outs of radiation treatment. Radiation will decrease the risk of recurrence by seventy percent, so it is well worth. it. Here’s an analogy I could comprehend. Chemotherapy and surgery are like weeding your garden. You pull the weeds but sometimes there are still roots lying beneath the surface. Radiation’s job is to kill the roots. So, while I have no evidence of disease (NED), and my oncologist called me “cancer-free” in our last appointment, there could still be a microscopic cell or two hanging around somewhere in the skin. Radiation makes the site so undesirable cancer cells don’t want to live there, and in fact they die in the process. Normal cells, however, regenerate.
Dr. Ludwig quizzed me on the two organs that are capable of regeneration. The skin is one – do you know what the other one is? She applauded and grinned when I answered correctly, then she proceeded to tell me a related story from Greek mythology. It’s the story of a Titan named Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and gave it to mortals. He carried it away from Mount Olympus in a fennel stalk. As a punishment, Zeus chained Prometheus to a rock where each day an eagle pecked out his liver. The liver regenerated itself each night, only to be eaten again the next day. She said all this to say that even in ancient times the Greeks understood this organ was capable of regeneration. So it is with the skin. She plans to destroy my skin, but assured me it will grow back.
Dr. Ludwig is leaving MD Anderson at the end of August to lead the team at Baylor. So I will only see her one or two more times, then I will be followed up by Dr. Schlembach until the end of radiation. Because of the skin involvement, and the ever persisting question of whether this is inflammatory breast cancer (which we cannot confirm or deny), she is increasing my dosage and number to 33 sessions instead of the typical 30. I start on Thursday, go daily except on the weekends, and the last dose is meant to occur on October 8th. I will get a really bad burn.
Enter Igor.
That’s not completely accurate, really, and of course it is not his real name. In reality he was a very nice gentleman and tried to make me laugh on more than occasion. He treated me professionally and explained each step of the procedure. Subsequent actions, however, reminded me of the evil scientist’s assistant as he stretched my arm to an extremely painful position, told me to “hold the pose” for 30 minutes, marked my body for treatment, scanned me in and out of the CT machine, and gave me my first set of tattoos. Yes, I now have tattoos, although they may not count as such to those who have a “real” tattoo of a pretty flower or skull and cross bones. Four little permanent dots now mark the treatment spots in the event the red Sharpie wears off. I am now in the majority.
I say he “tried” to make me laugh because his Eastern European humor was a little off-beat. English is his second language and I enjoyed talking with him about Krakow, Budapest, Bratislava and other eastern European cities we have both visited. After the marking session was complete he asked with his slight Polish accent, “so what will you say now when people ask you if you have any tattoos?” Me, somewhat hesitant: “Well, I guess I do now?” Him: “And when they ask you if they can see your tattoo, you can tell them, no, they can just use their imagination and connect the dots.”
Elizabeth laughed out loud when I shared this with her on the way to the parking lot. We had an hour for lunch before my next appointment so we went to our favorite – Panera Bread. She always gets the potato soup in a bread bowl, and I like the chicken noodle. There is a mark in the middle of my chest which my shirt failed at hiding. It is interesting to watch the expressions of people who noticed.
Enter Helga.
The name Helga means holy or blessed, and in a way I was blessed to slip into a cancellation slot with the physical therapist while I was already in the building. Her time is in high demand and we were having trouble synchronizing our schedules. That’s not why I call her Helga. I did not feel blessed by the time she finished with me. Helga is the wife of Hagar the Horrible in the once popular cartoon strips. Helga is the founder of the Hufflepuff house in the Harry Potter series. Helga is the name I assign to women who inflict pain instead of pleasure. While shrewdly playing nature sounds with the faint calls of various songbirds, Helga’s office reminded me not of a Swedish spa, but of a Hungarian masseuse’s torture chamber who assaults every thread of your muscles leaving you bruised and in dire need of a sedative. I was not looking forward to this, and it did not feel relaxing as the music pretended.
After nearly an hour of questions and assessments, measurements, sit/stand/walk tests, volume tests, and range of motion tests, she diagnosed me with Axillary Webbing Syndrome or Lymphatic cording. This is common with breast cancer patients who had lymph nodes removed. Basically this cord pulls my arm down and inward. Pain and limited range of motion are two primary symptoms. It doesn’t hurt when I rest unless I’ve overdone it during the day. It hurts to stretch in multiple directions however. One direction hurts my arm, the other hurts my chest. I am all too familiar with the expression “no pain no gain,” however I wish I could fix it without visiting Helga.
Harry Potter fans recognize that Helga Hufflepuff’s school values hard work and patience. Their motto: “Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil.” That shibboleth also applies to physical therapy, so my therapist is rightly named. Even greater than Harry Potter are the words from Paul: “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Romans 8:18 ESV). This is but a momentary trial.
She did offer to teach my husband how to massage my arm and back to aid in the healing process. I am certain he will look forward to doing that when he returns from his reunion…ha. 🙂
À la prochaine (Until next time) …