In short--the treatment is not as bad, nor anywhere near as nightmarishly awful as I was afraid it was going to be. *whew*
Not that it's a walk in the park, but there isn't really any pain, just actual discomfort. And if you have claustrophobia in any way? This could be problematic for you.
But let me start at the beginning. We left Reno with plenty of time to reach our destination with a large cushion of time to hang out before my appointment at 2:35pm. We couldn't check into our hotel until 3 o'clock, so that had to wait until after the first treatment.
We arrived with nearly 90 minutes to spare, so we had lunch at one of our favorite places, Pluto's, where I used to eat at weekly when I was going to Chico State. I was extremely anxious and the closer we got, the more frightened and cranky I got.
My stomach was feeling kind of squeamish, so I decided not to eat anything too heavy and I opted for the tomato gorgonzola soup. The veggies looked really good--broccoli, carrots, and snap peas with a little feta cheese, so I got that as a side. Both were delicious.
Our destination was less than three miles away, but we got onto the freeway to follow the directions the oncology department had given us.
And then it started.
We were five minutes out from the restaurant when my stomach started gurgling. Then my guts started twisting--whatever I had just eaten, was on its way out, and soon.
I told R. that I thought I could hold it for a "bit." We got to the campus, and I said I just couldn't wait. We pulled over in front of a building that turned out to be, ironically, the food science building. The bathroom was at the end of a long hallway. I limped down it as quickly as I could go. I parked myself in the handicapped stall and waited for the onslaught I just knew was coming. And I needed to be at my appointment in 20 minutes. So no pressure. *rolleyes*
If you're squeamish, stop reading now.
I sat there and waited. Nothing. Then I felt like I might have to throw up. I picked up the small sanitary napkin trashcan. The cover slid off and the metal container slammed into the floor, the noise echoing off the walls, and rolled away. I was afraid to move from the toilet based on the pain I was having in my guts.
I grabbed a bunch of toilet seat covers and put them on the tile floor in front of me "just in case." I could always pick it up and chuck it into the toilet later.
Well, it's a good thing I did, because I spewed tomato soup, not once, but twice, like an alternate version of The Excorcist with red instead of green. Even I was horrified. I can't even look at a picture of a tomato now. Ugh.
I looked at the time. I was cutting it close--if I wasn't going to have the squirts, I needed to go. I felt somewhat better after vomiting.
I picked up the toilet seat covers, put them in the toilet, and flushed. I didn't get it all. All the seat covers were gone by then, so my apologies to janitorial services at the university.
As I came out of the restroom and back into the hall, I felt dizzy, and slipped off my sandal and hit the wall, and as I looked up, I could see R. making a bee-line for me. I was so glad to see him.
We got back in the car and headed over to the radiation lab. We were lost for about a minute, but we found it. We were on time. Just.
The receptionist told me to let her know if I needed to use the restroom because she would let me into the locked facility--there wasn't one "back there" in the actual lab.
After about 10 minutes, I asked her to let me in. I finally had a normal bowel movement, but it was not the explosion that I was expecting based on the gurgling and pain. I waited some more, and nothing. Back into the lobby.
Ten more minutes. My appointment time had come and long gone, when I thought I might finally have to go, I asked the receptionist to buzz me in again. Just as I sat down, I hear R shout through the door, "honey, they're ready for you."
"OK," I said. "I shouldn't be too long."
And whoosh. The evil soup / vegetables were out of my body. "Done." I shouted back.
At the time, I didn't know if it was nerves, too much cheese/cream in the soup, food poisoning, or what. But I still did not feel well even "afterward."
The treatment itself was a breeze compared to that little episode. Everyone was very excited and peppy. This lovely French woman walked me back through what I can only describe as a warehouse, then around a corner where there was a bunch of equpment, monitors, etc., just what you expect a lab to look like, and then they put me in a regular chair in this tiny alcove and put numbing drops in my eyes. And boy does that sh*t burn. They did three or four doses of the eye itself and also the edges of the eyelids to numb everything up for the eye retractors. My brain had imagined something that looked like a staple remover, but it wasn't even close.
Anyway, around the corner they put me into this machine with a seat with the same set-up as at the oncology dept when I had the mask and bite made. They put the mask and bite on me right away, and then made adjustments so they could hit the tumor precisely.
The sweet physicist who'd made my mask and bit was there, and he took x-rays of my eye to make sure the chair was in the precise location.
"Point three three up; one point six three to the right." And the two lady techs would come in and turn some knobs and move my head, which was screwed into a device--it's hard to describe, I'll try to get a picture--incrementally.
Then they'd do it again. And they'd move me again. Then they'd take one more film to make sure it was precisely on target.
THEN, and only then, did my doctor come in and put in the eye retractors. And they were almost painless. I am not kidding. I worried over that for nothing. From what I could see, they looked like the same material as a paperclip. I'll try to get one or a picture of one--we found out today we can take pictures!! So we're bringing the camera. Anyway, they have an edge to them that hooks over your eyelids, both upper and lower, and then she tapes them to your face.
They do one last check of everything, and then they all scatter from the tiny room, and I could hear my doctor's voice over the PA saying, "doing great, we're halfway done."
Huh. When did we start, I wondered? As I continued to stare at the flashing red light that was up and over to the right.
Then it was over. I did start sweating in the mask, and the inability to move my head or speak was giving me a little claustrophobia, so I started rehearsing Les Miz song lyrics in my head, and that helped a lot.
Next thing I know, they were taking everything off, and walking me back out to the chair to put a patch over my eye that I was to keep on for 30 minutes.
Oh, also...There were these two large posts, about six inches in circumference and a foot long and about a foot or so apart, pointed directly at my abdomen, and I guess your body is supposed so fit between them as they come toward you, but my boobs....one of the techs held them on the sides until the posts were in position, and then let go. We all had a giggle over that.
So the lovely French tech let me pick out what color eye patch I got to wear--maroon--the closest thing they had to purple--and we left, out the back door. And I guess while I was in there, R was having fun talking science with the techs. He said he could also see the images of my eye and the markers. Again, taking pics tomorrow.
So back to my guts--I was sick all night. R finally went out and got me some immodium--mint flavored nastiness--but I immediately felt better and the runs stopped and I was able to get some sleep. I slept until noon. We went to IHOP for lunch after the treatment simply because I wanted something bland (eggs and fruit), and came back to our hotel and we both took long naps. I wanted to have some Thai food while we're here, but I don't know if my tummy can take it. We'll see tomorrow.
It was not nerves. It was either too rich for me, or I had food poisoning. I'm not 100% today, either, but much better.
Today, the treatment was much the same except for one problem--the camera would not stay in position--it kept drooping doward like a limp pickle. I could've used another metaphor, but I decided to go with pickle. *ahem*
The eye clips had already been put in place, the xrays taken, the precise spot located, and they ended up futzing with the camera for 20 minutes or so. It felt like 20 minutes, it could've been less. I had an emergency button I could push if I needed out, something like the button on Jeopardy.
So the mask, being plastic, is not porous and does not breathe, and I get sweaty underneath. I felt a bead of sweat coming down the right side of my nose. I thought, "if it goes into my nostril and I start to choke, I'm pushing the button." It bypassed my nostril and went straight into my lips and into my mouth. LOL
By this time, I had started to drool. I just wanted to get it over with and get out.
Finally, the limp camera was whipped into shape and they got started. Ninety seconds, bam! done. They kept telling me what a great job I was doing. And as the tech took my hand and walked me over to the chair to put the eye patch on, she told me what a great job I did. "What is the alternative?" I said.
"Well, at last you didn't whine," she said, smiling.
"That wouldn't really accomplish anything," I said.
"No, it wouldn't" she said, laughing.
I can only imagine what types of reactions they've encountered doing these procedures. If I thought screaming would help, I would've, but it didn't seem like it would've gotten me out of there any sooner, so I just did what they told me to do. Steel Magnolia? Or just Warrior Woman? :-D
I think tomorrow I'm going to ask for extra drops because today a different woman put them in, and she seemed to focus more on the lids than the eyeball and the retractors were pinching. I also want to ask the oncologist about how long it will take for the thing to die. The Frisbee flashes have stopped, so that's cool.
I hope tomorrow R can get some good pics and even one of me in the mask with the eyeclips in--that would be cool. I'm also going to ask if I can keep one of the "eye retractors." They are nowhere near as bad as I expected. So glad.
I told R, "I think I'm almost over the phobia about stuff in my eye." And then I asked him if he would put the ointment in my eye that I was directed to take nightly. $5.00 at Rite Aid. Gotta love it. That insurance is worth every penny.
So, two things;
1. Food poisoning or whatever the hell was going on with my lower GI is WAY worse than radiation. Way worse.
2. The Olympics start on Friday! And they're in London!! I'll be DVRing or watching it all. I'm a closet Royalist. Or not so closeted.
And one last thing...? My vision in that eye? Not too bad. Not perfect, but I can definitely see out of it. That is a very good thing. Two more treatments to go and then I'm home for the summer. I miss my kitty's. Paige sure didn't want me to go. She was in my suitcase, on top of my suitcase, meowing at me, blocking the door, trying to herd my legs....Pascal was all, "Yawn, you're leaving? Oh, so I can sleep in your spot on the bed. Cool." Sassy was her usual confused self. But I miss them all. They're in the very good hands of my neighbor.
Oh: Our hotel room that I booked through AARP? Maybe the nicest room I've ever stayed in. Wood floors, King size bed with a soft cotton duvet and high thread count sheets; eight pillows--eight; a big comfy chair with ottoman, a desk for using the computer; free WiFi; an awesome pool we want to use tomorrow; a fridge and a microwave and a coffeemaker; free breakfast; and beautiful colors on the walls in shades of cocoa and cream, and in the bathroom, one wall of a bright olive green that I really like. And we got it for less than the Motel 6 around the corner. Fabulous. (I'll take pics.) I'm totally cranking the A/C. :-)
Two more days to go.
**Apologies for the typos. Vision is not 100%. :D
