Next Monday might be the end of my "chemotherapy" chapter, but today was the start of my "radiation" chapter.
A testament to the "chemo brain" side effect of chemo - I had my appointment written down as 11:30 in my day planner, and 10:30 in my phone. If it weren't for my mom coming in my room last night to check and ask if I wanted her to come with me and confirm what time the appointment was, I would've been late. I called this morning just to double check - and sure enough, the appointment was actually for 10:30.
We drove to the radiation center, which is not at the hospital where I get chemo, but a separate building in a different part of town. I wrote the address down wrong, and so I had to call to confirm the address and get directions. We found the building, and walked inside. It's a small center, and as is customary with every new doctor's office, there were forms for me to sign.
I half-assedly read each sheet of paper (I know, that sounds awful. I really should be more diligent about what I'm signing when it concerns my health), and signed where necessary. I gave the receptionist/nurse the clipboard and pen back, and gave her my copay.
A few minutes later, she called my name, and we walked back. I stepped onto the scale, and cringed when I looked at the number. I'm up 14 pounds from when this all started, 2 pounds shy of my heaviest weight. I hate the damn scale. Even worse - I'll have to do it again later today at my follow up doctor appointment with my oncologist. So, twice in one day I'll get mocked with that number staring back at me. The nurse walked us back into a room, took my blood pressure and temperature, and told me the doctor would be right in.
Not too long after she left, in walked a tall, thin, man with glasses. He introduced himself as Dr. Fisch, and shook my hand, then my mom's. He sat down and asked what questions I had. The only real question I had was how much radiation he was suggesting. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, so I wasn't surprised when he said "30 sessions". My mom, however, was a little shocked. Just as when we met my oncologist for the first time, and I knew he was going to tell me I needed chemo, I knew I was going to need radiation. Dr. Fisch explained his reasoning why he recommended the more gradual treatment for my case - because of my age, the fact that I had a lumpectomy, and also had chemotherapy were all reasons he felt the shorter sessions, but longer time frame were a better fit for me. We then went over possible side effects - fatigue, burning, swelling, blisters, possible lung or heart problems... I held back my tears while he continued to talk. He reassured me that because of my pale complexion, he doesn't think I'll have much discoloration or burning. Apparently my thin build also bodes well for my treatment, though I can't remember the reason why. After, or maybe it was before, describing the possible side effects, he also explained how the radiation would work. The first 25 sessions would be the whole breast, and the last 5 sessions would be "boost" sessions, targeted only on the scar and lump site. I'll be getting little tattoo dots to act as markers for the radiation, and I'll lay in the same position each time. Since my left side is the cancer side, they're going to take x-rays and an in-depth CT scan, to avoid as much contact with my heart as possible. Because I had no lymph node involvement, I won't be getting any radiation in my armpit or my clavicle.
After these explanations, Dr. Fisch stepped out while I took off my tank top and bra, and put on the stylish paper vest. I rolled my eyes as I told my mom "Great, another person added to the list of people that have seen me topless in the last 6 months." My breasts are becoming decreasingly sexualized as this experience moves forward. That list has gotten pretty long, though I haven't officially kept track. Dr. Fisch walked back in, washed his hands, and then started his examination. He felt my neck, my armpits, and then asked me to lay back on the table. He first examined my right, non-cancer, breast and reassured me that nothing felt abnormal - which was music to my ears, because just last week I thought I felt a lump. I'm sure I'm always going to be hyper-aware of any new changes for the rest of my life, so hearing that soothed a little of my anxiety. Then he moved on to the cancer breast, and told me that I've healed really well. He didn't feel any fluid buildup near the scar or tumor area, and nothing else in the breast felt abnormal. Again, a huge sigh of relief. He then walked out and told me to get dressed again.
When he walked back in, we further discussed my treatment plan. He told me that if I were one of his relatives, he'd tell me to do the radiation. Just like with chemo, I knew that saying 'no' was an option, but in a way, it really wasn't. If I'd said no to chemo and radiation, and later in life I had a recurrence, I would never forgive myself. And with my mom sitting there in the room with me - how could I willingly reduce my chances of survival, which would willingly increase the possibility that my mom would have to bury her child? That's something no parent should ever have to endure. Dr. Fisch gave me statistics, which I like. He said right now, without radiation, my chances of recurrence are about 35%. With the added benefit of radiation, it reduces down to something closer to 15%. At least, I think that's what he said. And if he would tell a beloved family member to do this - then that also told me I should do it. He handed over a pen, and I signed away my consent.
I go back in on the 26th of this month to have the little tattoos done, as well as the X-rays, CT scan, and getting my position on the table right. Having to go in to the doctor every day for 6 weeks is going to be incredibly exhausting. I'm already tired just thinking about it.
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