22. Cancer Diaries - The final phase of delivery

I'm back commuting again after nearly 3 years of working the majority of my time at home. This time my commute is not for work though, it's for the final phase of this cancer project, it's to go to Radiotherapy sessions. I'm having to renew my old morning routine, in addition to the alarm going off, getting up and showering, dressing and eating breakfast. I now remember to check the weather and the train times to plan my journey. Every working day for 3 weeks I shall be doing this commute. I've completed my first week so I thought I'd share what I've been up to.

Radiotherapy, I've known many people say they've had it, mainly for cancer reasons, but I've never really understood the actual process, until now. Back in December I had my planning session where I was put onto a special bed and into a scanner to plot where the radiotherapy beams would target on my body. At the end of the session I was given tattoos as additional markers. When someone decides to get a tattoo it is normally to represent something meaningful. These were my first tattoos, 3 tiny dots, and what do they represent to me? A cancer patient. They were an inky needle scratch on my skin, just enough to leave a mark. I already know that I don't want another real tattoo in my life. I've had enough of needles. 

The first day of Radiotherapy and I have a preliminary chat with one of the specialist nurses with some last minute form completion, before heading into the room for my treatment. 

This is a pic of the actual room I have been visiting with the radiotherapy machine. I sit on the bed which has the red aides in place to make my resting position a bit more comfortable. I lie on my back and have my arms raised above my head to get them out of the way. There's a little bar for my bum to rest against and then I lollop my legs on the red foam support. The nurses then move me about to ensure that I am in the exact position needed for the treatment, based on the scans and measurements taken during the planning session. The manoeuvring is so precise, to the sub-millimetre. I am asked not to help with any movement changes as the patient would over compensate. Instead you lie like a corpse (my words, not theirs) and get shoved about until everyone is happy. I then have to lie very still for the rest of the session.

The nurses leave the room and close the door, which must be at least 20cm thick, so that the radio waves don't escape - and I'm left in there! 

The machine kicks into action and the first task is to take a scan of me in situ. The bed I'm on moves into position, rising up and closer to the main machine. The left and right arms on the pic above extend and move around me to take the scans. The left arm takes the image, while the right arm captures it, (a bit like an old camera with the lens at the front to bring through the light and a back plate with the film to capture the image). With each scan I am asked to take a breath in and hold it. This raises my chest wall up and away from my heart, to protect it. I'm holding my breath for around 20 seconds each time and I have to close my eyes, and count the seconds to concentrate to do this. 

Scans complete, there is a pause, which feels like ages, while the nurses check the results to see if I'm in the right position and ready to proceed to the next stage. At the beginning I found this a bit unnerving. It felt like a long pause and that something was wrong. At subsequent sessions I found out the process and started to relax. A little too much possibly as now I listen to the radio that's piped through to the room and I found myself having to exhibit much restraint to stop myself from finger dancing to Spice Girls, Wannabe. 

The scans are all OK and the machine kicks off again into action, this time for the actual radiotherapy. The beam is the circular object on the machine in the picture. There is a glass plate which inside shows the beams jaws. The jaws move into a shape that has been specifically designed for me, for the beam to work through and target my zones. 

Again I am asked to hold my breath before each beam hits my body. During one of my treatments the process took longer as every time I inhaled and held my breath I was asked to exhale again, and then try again. Essentially, I was inhaling too much air and my chest wall was too high. I was considered an over-achiever. There's always a first for everything!

For my treatment I receive 4 beams in total per session and they are applied in a sweeping motion, a bit like painting a wall area with a roller - or so I imagine. Each time the beam covers the 3 zones of interest on my body; the breast where the initial tumour was, up towards my neck area and in between my breasts (all following lymph node chains). Remember, this is preventative treatment so it's aimed at killing any remaining cancer cells and stopping any cancer from coming back. 

It's truly a bizarre experience. My first thoughts were that I was in some sort of space setup, a bit like 2001, with my surroundings gently moving around me in zero gravity.  Also, the beam comes quite close to me as it moves over my body which is a bit disconcerting. The strangest part of this whole experience is that you lie there and do not see or feel anything while the treatment is happening. 

After several breath holds while machinery glides about the place the session is over and I'm free to go. I get dressed and travel back home again, only to return the next day for Groundhog day. And then the tiredness kicks in. I come home and look and feel exhausted. I've commuted to a hospital, laid on a bed and held my breath, and now I need a nap. Crazy!

I've been given special cream to apply each day to keep the affected skin areas moist as they will be subject to burning, like sunburn, from this treatment. So far, so good, but I'm expecting the zones to get red over the course of the treatment.

5 sessions completed, another 10 to go. I can do this. It's nearly over.