Abi-normal—Part 2

And someone’s sneakin’ round the corner; could that someone be Mack the Knife? —Bertolt Brecht

If you’ve been reading, you may recall my previously mentioning a notebook that I take to each appointment. One section lists all my doctors, phone numbers and their locations. That list continues to grow. One section is a list of dates for each  appointment, test, procedure, follow up, etc. The rest of the book is devoted to my conversations at each doctor’s appointment, questions, concerns, personal observations. Everything you’ve been reading here comes from that notebook.

When I arrived for my first GAMMA the Knife treatment on 7/21/22, I opened a new page and entered the date. The rest of that page remained blank. This was a completely different experience from the STRS radiation on the first brain tumor. I do recall bits and pieces, but most of that day was a blur. I still was drugged out on steroids and dealing with brain swelling. My brain was like a muddy puddle. And now I had agreed to having it scrambled a bit more.

With the STRS, a mask was created specifically for me to wear during treatment. It felt like it was trying to squeeze out any residual blackheads and pimples that may have been lingering since I was sixteen. For the big event, it felt like it was trying to rearrange what collagen I had left to force my face into a smooth, wrinkle free surface. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.  I looked like a mutant Eggo waffle. However, I was conscious throughout the procedure.

For GAMMA, I arrived at the facility at 7 am. Since I always pre-register for everything prior to procedures, I was admitted quickly. The head nurse came into the waiting room and presented me with yet another folder. (Note: I should check my portfolio and see if I have stock in folder supplies. I get a new folder every time!) She explained again what they were going to do and provided information for care after the procedure. I needed to sign a couple of documents. We weren’t sure how long it would take, but my husband would stay in the waiting room until it was done.

My husband was an Eagle Scout. He takes being prepared very seriously. He always has a backpack to carry his tablet, my wallet, our phones, chargers, water, snacks and a case to hold my glasses. There could be a first aid and mini tool kit in there as well. Like I said he is prepared for anything.

The nurse escorted me to an examination room. First up, placing the helmet that mobilizes my head during treatment. BrainGuy2 comes in and injects lidocaine just under the skin on my head. This is so when the helmet is screwed in—yeah, it is screwed into the head—the pain is tolerable. The nurses pulled my hair up into two mini-pigtails on top of my head. I doubted it was cute looking. The helmet is attached at four points. Two on either side of the forehead and two on the back of head midway between ears. I was glad the sedation was kicking in. It was a strange sensation as they cranked to secure it.  Once I was sufficiently screwed (haha), they took my picture!? Not sure why. Perhaps to prove that I had willingly agreed to this? Maybe I could use the photo for my new headshot? I was right. Pigtails were not flattering on this old broad.

My nurses were absolutely fabulous. In my semi-drugged state, I worked hard to remember their names. While they were getting the infusion in for the MRI and CT scans, they went over all the required questions to see if I was still cognitively functioning. The last question was, “Have you been having thoughts of suicide?” 

Ummm, what? Suicide? Well, my life has been a huge downer lately, but offing myself hadn’t occurred to me. I answered no. Homicidal, maybe. If they needed someone taken care of, I would be happy to help. They laughed. 

See? I can still find the humor.

Next I was taken for a CT. Then jumped over to MRI. By this time, I had a really good buzz going with sedation. I don’t know what time it was when I had the scans. I actually slept through the MRI. Afterwards, I was taken to a patient waiting room until BrainGuy2 got the results that would determine where to position the Knife to slice and dice. The clock in the room displayed it was 8:45. 

They asked if I wanted anything while waiting.  WATER! I had nothing to eat or drink since the night before. I was given a bottle of water with a straw. However, the helmet contraption had a bar that sits directly over your mouth. Trying to maneuver that straw in a position where I could actually get it in my mouth was tricky. Plus, I still had a good buzz going. Dribble. Dribble. I drifted in and out until a nurse came back. I asked groggily, “Now what?” 

“Time for your treatment!” Oh, cool. She helped me into a wheel chair and took me to the room where GAMMA lived. It looked very much like every CT/MRI contraption I’ve experienced. Perhaps it was a bit bigger. The buzz had not worn off. 

The GAMMA techs introduced themselves and helped me lie down on the metal slab. Then it was kind of like lining up a horse in the chute before a race. “Scooch up a bit. Too far. Back up. That’s good. Lift your head a bit. Now down some. There, that’s good. Are you ready?” For what? SNAP! The helmet was pushed down until it clicked into the slab. Good and tight. No doubt about it. There was no escaping now!

I looked into the tech’s eyes peering down and asked him what I should do now. He smiled and said, “Have a lovely nap.” Another one? Works for me! I recall being in and out of consciousness and wondering if GAMMA was doing anything. At one point it popped in that I should be doing my visualization routine that helped me through STRS. The night club serving those cancer cells radiation shots. This time only one visual appeared. GAMMA the Knife all alone slicing and dicing. No talking, no jokes. Doing its job. 

The treatment took 56 minutes. The helmet was removed and my head wrapped in gauze with ice packs. I was told there may be some leakage. From my brain? If the zombie apocalypse had occurred while I was under, maybe I should keep the helmet on for awhile? 

I went home and napped some more. The next week was a roller coaster with up and down moods, strange sleep patterns, confusion, obsessive thoughts, dizziness and fatigue.  Jeez, second menopause?!  At least, I had no physical pain.  Personal and emotional torment, yeah. Two days after GAMMA, my steroid dose was reduced. Two weeks later I was completely off them. Getting that crap out of my system helped.

At the end of August I was back for the second Gamma treatment. After that, I was scheduled for a followup MRI to check if the lesion was growing or swelling. Prognosis? Unknown. However, I was thrilled that I could read, write, and form a complete sentence. GAMMA had stomped that cancer! For now, anyway.