29 to Go

Four radiation treatments down and just 29 to go. What a wacky world! I am told I must try not to get soap on my breast because the lines they draw are with an iodine pen and they don't want them to come off. The first time they drew them was a week before treatment started. By the time I went in for the first treatment the lines had faded so much they looked like scars all over my chest. The pink lines matched my surgery scars.

Okay, here's my first rant about this phase of treatment. I was pretty frustrated when I went in on January 3rd to get the markings. I had been told before Christmas that I'd start actual treatment the first week of January. But no! It turns out I had to wait a week after the line drawing. That pushed back the cancer treatment finale another week. And there's more! Treatment isn't actually six weeks, it's really 33 days, Monday through Friday, which is six and a half weeks plus the week of waiting after going in for the marking. What all this means is that instead of finishing mid-February as I expected, it's now looking like just a few days before my birthday. My boob will still be "sunburned."

You'd think by this time I'd've learned to stop planning for the end of treatment and just take things as they come. Having to wait until the second week of January actually worked in my favor. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to go with Luke on our jaunt through Texas.

I used to like to say, "If it's not one thing, it's another." Like Roseanne Roseannadanna. But these days a more fitting thing would be, "When it rains, it pours!" Because I never have only one problem. Always they come in clusters. Last week I started treatment and developed a kidney infection. I finished the anti-biotic today, thank goodness, because it was making me queasy and I haven't been sleeping. Inability to sleep is actually a side effect of the anti-biotic. Not a good thing when I'm driving to Alexandria and back daily. My right arm is sore, also, and I can't raise it with the elbow bent (like I'm flying). This means I need Luke to help me undress. Fun, sure, under the right circumstances, but not when you don't have a choice.

The good thing: the radiation oncologist has a physical therapist on staff because he recognized a need that, more often than not, wasn't being addressed by either the surgeons or the chemo oncologists. The information I've gotten on how I should treat my arm and whether to wear the sleeve has been conflicting. It was a relief to get instructions I can feel confident in. I'll meet with her tomorrow about my arm and find out what I need to do.

Can't stay awake any more. I might rewrite this later, but for now I'll publish this as is.