Hit Me With Your Best Shot...

I have begun radiation therapy.  "Fire Away!" as Pat Benatar sang.

Radiation therapy kills cancer cells and stops them from spreading using high doses of radiation.  My chemotherapy eliminated the tumor, but there may still be some remaining cancer cells.  The radiation will destroy any remaining cancer cells and reduce the chances of the lymphoma returning.

The radiation is a very precise procedure. A body cast was made for my head and left upper body.  I lay in the cast to position my body correctly each time and to help me remain still.  My treatment area includes both the site of the tumor as well as the lymph node chain above it.  In the photo you see a red outline done with a permanent marker (my tatoos are so small they are barely visible).  Because my cancer was Stage 1, only this one area receives the radiation dose.

The treatment itself only takes about 20 seconds to the front of my body. 

The machine then rotates 180 degrees and I receive the same dosage to the back my body. Most of the treatment time is spent carefully aligning the radiation beam. In the photo you can see red light beams from the lasers used to make the precise alignment. I will receive radiation five days a week for four weeks.

Side effects of radiation vary with the area treated and vary from individual to another.  In my case, I was told to expect fatigue, hair loss, skin changes similar to a sun burn, and some irritation on the left side of my throat.

So far, radiation is not as bad as chemotherapy.  The treatment area feels a little swollen after therapy and feels like mild sunburn.  I am experiencing fatigue, but able to get out in the yard and enjoy Spring in Kenwood.  The radiation effects tend to become more prominent after a couple weeks.  Keep those positive thoughts coming my way for mild side effects and a quick recovery.

Thank you for letting me, be myself, Again!

I want to thank everyone for helping me along my journey so far.  As Sly and the Family Stone sang, "Thank you, for lettin' me, be myself, again!"  

Your cards, emails, phone calls, flowers, casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, CDs, books, prayers, chants, and positive vibes have kept me going through tough times.  It seemed that every time I would start to feel depressed, someone would make contact and cheer me up.  I feel very humbled by the many, many acts of love and caring.  Knowing you are surrounded by love is more comforting than I can adequately describe.

Most deserving of my appreciation is Viola.  She is the who held me tight and stayed strong in those scary weeks last January when we awaited the diagnosis of the mysterious lump.  She's kept fresh flowers in our home, helped me bathe and get dressed, covered me with blankets and propped me up with pillows. She has fed me so well that I gained a couple pounds instead of losing weight, both surprising and pleasing the oncology staff.  It is hard to imagine getting through the past couple months without her.

V and I look forward to seeing all our friends and family again.  Happy together, like that day pictured below, celebrating our tenth anniversary last fall-- travelling by train from London to Paris and returning to Monet's garden where were married.

Not that too!

I received some disturbing information at my radiation education session.  I was prepared to hear about the side effects, such as burning of the skin and fatigue.  I learned that I will get some scarring in my lungs and possibly in my throat.  But nothing prepared me for the news that I would lose my chest hair.  "Not that too!", I cried.

There is only so much a man can take and I so I began googling chest hair loss.  Much to my relief, there are solutions for this most embarassing of problems. 

Yes, you probably recognize it, an actual Austin Power's chest hair piece for only $19.95.

An even simpler solution is a shirt I can wear on those hot days of summer when I want a natural look.

Should my deepest fear be realized and my chest hair fails to grow back, there are the Japanese chest hair implant clinics.

My google search even lead me to a mystery that my new specialized knowledge solved.  I know there is no mystery in the article below, it is simply one of the side effects of chest radiation.

It's Getting Better All the Time!

Good news today at the oncology center! My doctor cannot feel any evidence of the tumor.  He will not order a diagnostic scan now since any remaining cancer cells should be eliminated by the radiation treatments.  My lymphocytes are back to normal and I can discontinue the support medications I was taking three times daily.  I can go out in public shaking hands and kissing babies.  I can eat popcorn now without the risk of mouth sores, but it will be hard to enjoy until butter tastes like butter again.

One of the best things about today--I got the PICC line removed! I couldn't look as they pulled the twenty inch catheter out through my biceps muscle.  It is such a relief not worrying about lifting my arm too high or snagging the tubes dangling out of my arm.  If this sounds too graphic, be grateful I haven't posted pictures!

And there was more good news about my arm with the blood clot. It is no longer painful and the doctor will reduce my intake of anti-coagulants from six months to three months.  I also get to reduce my visits to the lab for blood draws from once a week to twice per month.  I asked the doctor if I would be able to do one arm push-ups when the treatment is over.  He said "Sure".  I said that's great because I never could before.

I Can See Clearly Now

The last chemo infusion was nine days ago and the drugs are slowly wearing off. Like the planet in springtime, I am coming alive again-- more energy, more mental focus, more taste sensations...I am starting to feel more like me.  It is truly as if a haze were lifting and everything is becoming clear.  I'm as happy as an onion flower bursting from its sheath.

Today I tended to the grape vines, tying up new canes and making a few more pruning cuts on the old vines.  The photo shows me learning about grapes from the 95 year old master gardener and my father-in-law, Glen Smith.

I had a CT scan this week and found out it was only for measuring purposes and not to diagnose the cancer.   I was very surprised when the technician said she was going to tatoo me.  I thought she was kidding, but no, I got three permanent dots tatooed on my body.  These will serve as reference points to align the radiation beams.  And I can now proudly proclaim in any bar, " Yeah, I got three tats!" (Apologies to cousin Denton Toddhunter, renowned tatoo artist.)

Monday morning it will be lab tests and a visit with the oncology doctor.  He will most likely order a diagnostic scan to search for a hopefully non-existent tumor. 

Lunch today with two great friends from Sacramento, Anita and Larry Fein, made my life seem almost normal.  We sat outdoors in beautiful weather eating simple Italian food at our local restaurant, Cafe Citti.

I want chocolate to taste sweet again...

It's been five days since my last drug infusion and I am beginning to slowly come out of my chemo haze.  After a lab test today, V and I went to a nearby library where I checked out two books.  How's that for optimism for my attention and focus to return soon?

I have been reflecting on what is important to me at this point in my life.  

I want:  chocolate to taste sweet again;  sunshine on my body; to eat popcorn without worrying about mouth sores; a digestive tract that doesn't constantly remind me of its existence; great writers to inspire me, not tire me; to feel hunger for food; a week without lab tests; to raise my arm without fear of dislocating a catheter; to put my hands in the dirt of my garden; to play guitar without infecting my fingers; I want a kiss from my baby granddaughter; to enjoy being touched again; to hold my wife tightly; to walk, hike and cycle; to chop vegetables; to be in the company of friends...

The above thoughts are taken from a list I composed one day.  As I read over the list now, I see how simple and basic my desires have become.  There is a Zen Buddhist concept of becoming more intimate with life.  After having so much taken away by chemo, it is easier to appreciate this.  For the rest of you, however, I recommend meditation over chemotherapy for an increased appreciation of the simple things in life.

This, from Viola, the opposite of bad walls

I Will Not Miss These Bad Walls


With this terrible vinyl paper
Spread lumpy, deteriorated
Made to look like a formic potato
Without the benefit of starch
Impossible to lean on, punitive
With patterns of angry insects

I will not miss the jigsaw puzzle
With the missing pieces, spread
Like a rash across a tiny table
Irises done over and over then put away
Forgotten and pulled out of the drawer
I will not bear it anymore

I will not miss the silent way
The waif janitress hangs
Her enormous arachnid head
With those heroin varicose legs
And arms, a chicken rib’s width
I will not miss the idle chatter
Of lazy secretaries who ignore the sick

Or the tardiness of doctors
Or the crate of pills to sort
Some days more accurately than others
I will not miss the questions unanswered
Or the gripping fear of earthly loss
Or the brave bluing that fails to brighten

They say this is a place of healing
Better put, this is a place where parts
Are lost and scars cultivate and lumpy
Tumors grow, are poisoned and retreat
It is a sarcophagus shellacked with toxins
Some will live and some will go so quickly

I will not miss the fine fuzz
Of lost hair, the soft stubble of grief
The maddening passivity of defeat in some
The trouncing determination of others
And always, the cheerful face I can’t wait
To peel like an orange so I am real as before

I will be happy to reclaim my love
And his joyful, change-jangling electricity –
How his eyes shine with discoveries
I wait eagerly for the first laugh
That will erupt like a mud pot bubble
The way he heaves with a silent grin

I look forward to the reanimation
The warming of limbs, the settling
Of his filmy digestion, the retreat
Of his haze, O soon, please, his first morning
When we really know we are the lucky ones
The first flinging of his arms around me

I will wash him again, without the tubes
I will love him delicately until exuberance
Tingles and a heartbeat samba begins again
With a flourish, I will show him the tiny bird
In the new red maple tree, the patient bird
Who waited all this time for spring

© 2009 Viola Weinberg

Finishing Chemo

Yesterday I was infused with my last dose of the chemotherapy toxins.  Finishing--what a great feeling!  I was reminded of finishing races in High School, when I ran the hurdles.  You give it every thing you have and gut it out to reach the finish line.

The next few days will still be challenging as the effects of the chemo take full effect.  Last weekend was my worst for nausea, fatigue, and generally feeling like hell.  The cancer fighting chemicals have a cumulative effect.  Each day is unpredictable. While the side effects will increase for a few days, everyday now I will have less toxins in my body.

On April 7th, I will have a CT scan to determine if any of the tumor remains.  If not, I will move to radiation therapy.  Should some of the tumor remain, I may need more chemo.  Keep your fingers crossed with me on that one.  Following chemo, I will have a couple weeks off prior to radiation to allow my body to repair.

The sun is shining today in beautiful Kenwood.  The irises are swelling; getting ready to bloom again.  I am getting very anxious to get out and work in the yard.  Next week that should become a reality.  Gardening is one of the most enjoyable and relaxing things I do.  One of the best ways to balance the barrage of daily stresses. 

Bar None

My doctor thinks I may have made medical history.  On my left index finger, I developed a series of tender raised bumps. They were red, oblong ridges which appear to be infected.  He looked at my other fingers and found no other problems.  He considered the joints, but the inflammed spots didn't conincide directly with my knuckles.

The doctor examined some medical books and found images of raised ridges, but none that really fit my condition. He even dug into his library of antiquarian medical books and looked for descriptions that might fit.

Finally, as you may have surmised from the photo,  I mentioned that I had been playing guitar about a week earlier for an hour.  He asked which hand I used on the fretboard.  Then it dawned on me!  My right index finger presses across the strings when I play a bar chord (as shown).  The inflammed ridges on my index finger fit the pattern of the guitar strings.  Mystery solved!  Unfortunately, this means no guitar playing for some time. 

So it's true -- music really IS infectious--in this case, not necessarily in a good way.  I wonder - has anyone else suffered fret finger infections during chemotherapy?  My research found no other cases!

Daffodil Day

Yesterday I was greeted at the oncology center by two volunteers from the American Cancer Society who handed me a bouquet of daffodils.  How uplifting it was to carry my flowers into the infusion room.  I looked around at my fellow travelers on the chemo path, each with their bouquets, and shed a tear.

The Society notes:

As the first flower of spring, the daffodil is a symbol of hope. To the American Cancer Society, it represents the hope we all share for a future where cancer is no longer a life-threatening disease.