My First Day of Radiation and Chemotherapy

Hello my wonderful friends,

In the famous words of the beloved Mark Twain, I'm happy to report "The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."  Yes, I am still alive after a full day of radiation and chemotherapy! We gave those cancer cells a one-two punch today that should have knocked them off their feet. Leaving chemo I felt like The Champ, both hands taped and wrapped after a successful match. (They were taped and wrapped because my veins were playing hard-to-get, so I felt like boxer anyway.) Round one: cervical cancer 0, Laurie 1! I'm not sure yet how many rounds this match will be. The doctors want me to have chemo once a week during my radiation treatments, but it's yet to be determined if I'll have chemo during my course of internal radiation). I'm supposed to have five weeks (five days a week) of external beam radiation followed by four to five weeks of internal radiation. I'll keep you "posted" on all that as my progress continues. Okay, now on to the funny stuff.

"Funny" is a relative term, but I'm finding as much funny as I can right now - even if it means bathroom humor. So let's start with a bit of that.  Everyday before my radiation treatment I need to have a full bladder because it "lifts" the bladder away from the cervix (defying all means of logic in my mind). Here are the rules: finish drinking at least four eight-once glasses of water one hour prior to radiation treatment.  Basically, I need to do the "pee pee dance" every time I go to radiation. They run me through a CT scan to make sure my bladder is high enough, if I pass... (oh, no "pass" is certainly the wrong word here)... if they see I'm full enough, then I get to have treatment. If not, I have to wait and drink more water and hold it in (while someone else has their treatment...that meant 45 minutes on our practice day last week). My radiation tech (who shares the same maiden name as I do...so I call her "Aunt Kathy") said ladies have the hard part because we have to hold it, whereas men dealing with prostate cancer just have to clip their penises (peni?) to prevent leakage. Aunt Kathy and I must have differing views of "lucky" because when I heard that I felt incredibly grateful to be a girl! Anyway, you keep your full bladder during the 20-minute treatment, then race to the restroom for your much-needed relief. Yesterday I didn't mess around: I downed 10 eight-once glasses an hour before my appointment. I was (quite literally) good to go!

The bathroom humor gets better from here my friends. The colon apparently has the opposite effect on the cervix. So you want as little food or gas in there as possible. If you don't pass (ah, perfect word) that test you either get to have an enema for the #2 or a catheter if it's just gas. (What do you call poots...a #0?) Anyway they've got me on some pain medication and I'm experiencing constipation for the first time in my life. I had been using an herbal supplement that happens to contain habanero chilies to get my bowels comfortably moving. (If you haven't heard of habaneros, they make jalapenos seem about as spicy as Wonder Bread). I had a radiation practice round last week (for which I was going to create a post named "Tattoos and Enemas" because not only did I learn about enemas,  I also got my first three tattoos to line up my hips properly for the radiation beams). I knew nothing about the enemas until a phone call the day before practice indicating I needed to give myself not one, but two enemas prior to my appointment the next morning. Oh, the joy! (By the way, I'm practicing being facetious here.) I will save you from the details, but leave you with one bit of advice: don't ever, ever give yourself an enema after consuming habaneros.  The enemas worked, but I still got to have a catheter up my chile-burned booty to get rid of a gas bubble. (Oh, I also got to have a catheter in my coochie coochie simultaneously so the CT scan would show exactly where my cervix begins. What a sight! I was laughing so hard but I was also doing everything in my power not to laugh so hard as to push out the catheters (or possibly pee out my full bladder).

I'm sure now you understand why I have since switched to a chile-free laxative. I had just polished off the box of expired ones we had at the house, so my husband, Charlie, got me a fresh box to use the day before my first "real" day of treatment. Now I know why they put expiration dates on medications: same dose, different "outcomes."  Holy cow, I think I may have even gotten rid of some Pop Rocks from the '70's yesterday morning! Anyway, Charlie and I set out for our 30-minute drive to the radiology place with a full bladder and absolutely nothing else...or so I thought. Five minutes before arrival I found myself longing for Depends...not for the pee pee dance either.) But it wasn't five minutes....it was really 25 minutes because I had to have treatment first. I passed got through it with flying colors...then ran as fast as I could to powder my nose.

I dressed for the occasion. Here is a picture of me with my Radiation Oncologist (I call him Dr. Rad). Take a look at my t-shirt.

For those of you without superpower vision, the shirt has a picture of a boom box (aka ghetto blaster, portable stereo, etc.) that reads "Check Out My Box" underneath.  If you're not laughing, "box" is slang for coochie coochie. Now I hope some of you are falling off your chairs. It got a chuckle from Dr. Rad and a few high fives from the nurses.  Okay, off to chemo!

Many of you may or may not know that I've practiced a lot of hopeful thinking for nearly a decade.  I meditate (more like a kid dialed into a video game than a monk in a monastery, but still I meditate), I practice self hypnosis, I do guided imagery, practice being grateful, and lots of breath work. I have a strong faith that brings me peace and strength.  So for my chemo session I made a wonderful playlist of some great guided imagery cds and relaxing music to keep my mind focused on using the chemo to kill the cancer cells, while using my faith to strengthen my healthy cells. Only I forgot my iPod. Charlie kindly offered to make the hour round-trip to bring it me, and I accepted. Thank you, Charlie!  All chemo centers are different. Mine does not allow visitors, instead they've got ten recliners set up in a u-shape with a tv playing soap operas at one end (novellas for my latina amigas).  The room is brightly light with florescent beams, so this is not what I would consider an ideal environment for creating peace and calm.  While I was there the first two hours I thought I was in a "gentleman's club" since I was the only girl, but the only pole dancing I did was figuring out how to maneuver my IV-bag holder to and from the restroom. No one even threw money at me. Oh well. Maybe if Uggs ever starts making stripper shoes then I'll rake in some cash. Anyway, I was rather surprised by the conversation. I felt like I was listening to a game of "Who's Cancer is Worse" as the boys took turns telling their tales of woe.  The man directly across from me, who I have sarcastically nicknamed "Mr. Sunshine" was full of advice for me. These are his direct quotes:

• "This chemo is going to kick your a**."
• "I've had to be put in the hospital six times from all this chemo."
• "You'll probably lose all your hair in the next two weeks."
• "You've got to get this shot. It gets rid of the nausea real quick. It costs $2500."
• "When I'm here for chemo, they give me a bag so I can even do it at home. You might want to get yourself on of those fanny packs, you know?"
• "You're going to get really skinny.  I've lost four pant sizes." (Since I was a Zumba Fitness instructor prior to my diagnosis (you can check out my profile here, the last thing I want is to lose more weight. I've been forcing myself to eat as much as possible to get ready for the nausea and vomiting that is common with my particular chemo medication, Cisplatin.)
• And, as I was leaving to use the restroom I could hear him say "I'd like to take some of that home with me." I was quick to let him know I heard him.  :)

This was not the guided imagery I was wanting to practice. Of course I know that I don't have the same cancer he has, I don't have the body he has, and I don't have the mindset he has. I thanked God profusely when the nurse arrived with the iPod Charlie had dropped off.  I kindly excused myself from the pep talk with Mr. Sunshine and The Band so I could get to work getting that horrible energy off of me, and go on my mental vacation to a much kinder, gentler, space.  I saw angels and warm, smiling faces. They reminded me I am a strong, dynamic woman. I am healthy. I am at peace. I am loved.

So to all of you who have been praying for me, sending positive thoughts my way, good vibes, precious cards and notes, and all those wonderful miracles: I am so grateful to you.  Your love is gently cradling me each day, re-focusing my mind on health and healing and hope. Thank you! I love you all, and I send my love freely back to you hoping you're at peace, too.

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