Radiation Shots vs. Cancer

“A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Karen Brain saloon...”

After the breast cancer scare was resolved, attention was turned to the thyroid. My first visit with Thyroid Guy went well. After hearing about the other fun stuff I was going through, he felt the best course of action was to not worry about the nodule until the more serious issues were addressed. Works for me!

I had this lesion (they never referred to it as a “tumor”, but that’s what it is) in the right parietal lobe of my brain. This is due to the non-small-cell-carcinoma in my left lung. I was told lung cancer loves to travel and set up an outpost in the brain. The lesion it built in my brain was about the size of a grape. Neurosurgeon, Oncologist and Thoracic surgeon decided that the lesion should be taken care of prior to treating the lung. They were relatively confident that one SRST (stereotactic radial surgery treatment)  would be enough to “blast”—fancy term used by my radiation doctor—that lesion to the curb. Oh boy, does this mean I might have super powers afterwards? I crossed my fingers hoping for laser vision and invisibility. There are a few politicians I’d love to eavesdrop on and zap.

An appointment was made to create a helmet that would map out my noggin for where to direct the radiation. The process was very similar to creating a theatre mask. 

The day of my treatment I was told I didn’t need to restrict food or liquids. I had my usual couple cups of coffee, but decided to forgo food just in case. Having done intermittent fasting for a few years, going without was no big deal. Other instructions included wearing comfortable clothing.  For me that translates as lounge pants and no bra under sweatshirt. Awesome! 

I arrived at the cancer center where the treatment was scheduled and went to registration to check in. They handed me the usual paperwork to sign. Then I was presented with the estimate of that day’s procedure. Wowsa! An overwhelming urge to drop to my knees and thank the universe that I had good health insurance hit me. I cannot even fathom how anyone without insurance could handle the cost. It confirmed to me that this country NEEDS universal healthcare for ALL its citizens. I started making a list of the politicians that thought differently for post-treatment zapping. Okay, off soapbox, no more political comments—for now.

Next, I was escorted to the room where it would happen. *Cue: Hamilton number.* It was very similar to a CT/MRI set up. Long table to lie on, place designated for your head, big humming machine behind it, except this table didn’t just go in and out. It could move in multiple directions. I laid down on the table. The techs asked if I was ready for my helmet. Sure! When it was being created, the same techs asked if I was claustrophobic. Me? Nah! I’ve done plaster casts of my face for masks and been in some pretty tight spaces on and offstage. They asked me again, “Are you claustrophobic?” I replied, “Not at all!”

The helmet was placed over my face. The tech said, “Okay, it’s going to get a bit tight.” Wait, what now? I hadn’t looked at the helmet that close and didn’t notice that on either side there were three holes where the SCREWS were put in to clamp it down good and TIGHT. First thing that came to mind, this is how “The Man In the Iron Mask” must have felt. The second thing, isn’t this a Medieval torture used on witches? Jeezopete, how did they find out???!!! 

As they continued to crank it tighter and the waffle pattern of the plastic on the helmet was being etched into my face, I began to think maybe I AM claustrophobic. When asked how I was doing, I gave a hearty thumbs up. The tightness of the mask prohibited speaking and I could no longer open my eyes. At that point, I’m afraid a vocal affirmation would not have been very convincing. However, I’m no wimp! I’ve endured dancing on stage in 100 degree heat while wearing a full skirt, long-sleeved blouse, petticoat, bloomers, leotard and tights.  And the extreme opposite of wearing next to nothing in minus 0 temps,  running offstage to throw on a blanket and shivering while waiting for my next entrance. It’s funny how the shows with the most or least costumes were never timed to happen in the season most comfortable for the attire.

Okay, so not a wimp. I can handle this. “You’re all set. We’ll be back in about 45 minutes.” 45 MINUTES?! Okay, okay, don’t panic! I can do this. I can do this. I can do this! Think of something other than the crushing pressure.

When this journey started, my wonderful sister-in-law suggested a book about the healing power of guided imagery. She had a serious case of breast cancer a few years ago and it had helped her. I had been practicing it for awhile. It’s done during meditation. You visualize where the cancer is and how your body should attack it. I’ve done various scenarios of kicking the cells out the door. Whipping them like Wonder Woman. Zapping them with a ray gun. Laying them on a railroad track and running over them with a steam engine—multiple times. 

But today was different, I was incredibly uncomfortable. My mind focused only on that. I started to count each breath as I do at the beginning of every meditation. One..two..three..DANG this really hurts! Damn. Have to start over. One...two...threEEE...FOURRRR…OUCH OUCh OWWWWWCH!!!

I was reminded of a cartoon titled “Chowder” that I loved to watch with my kids when they were younger. There was a character who would convey every emotion in a one word response, ‘Rada.” In one episode, he was working to complete an enormously physical task. As he is grunting in effort, Chowder shouts in encouragement, “Try NOT to think about POOPING!”  RADA!

I could not stop focusing on how miserable I was feeling. Then something clicked. I need to do the guided imagery exercise, but nothing previously would work. I began to think that lesion was a nightclub, a bar that I have unwittingly allowed the cancer to rent for its cell mutating party. Just because it is taking up space, does not mean it OWNS my brain. I do! As its host, I decided to provide a few refreshments. I went behind the bar and made several trays with martinis, margaritas, wine, beer, etc. In each glass, I dropped a tiny radiation pill and then served them up. Those cells guzzled it down until the trays were empty. Things were getting pretty wild. They were singing, dancing and really enjoying themselves. Some were slinking into dark corners.  I could imagine some sordid reproduction was taking place. I shouted, “SHOTS, anyone?!” This brought cheers of, “YEAH!” The glasses were lined up and filled, but this time the bottle was pure 190 proof radiation. I watched them slug the shots and ask for more. SURE! 

“Time’s up, Karen. You did great!” Forty-five minutes already? Pfftt. That wasn’t so bad. The mask came off. Ahhhh, relief. I told the tech that I would be asking for my money back if every line and wrinkle in my face returned. However, all would be forgiven if those super powers kicked in.

#braincancer #brainradiation #cancersucks #humor