So six weeks after surgery I have started the next step – radiotherapy. Or “radium” as my mum insists on calling it (see “blob” #2 for ‘mother language’). Which is highly radioactive. And I’d be glowing like a Ready Brek advert if they administered this. 😉
First session was yesterday. 14 to go. It’s a fairly quick (10 minutes in the huge donut machine) and painless procedure. Had a chat with a lovely nurse called Jose (who knows the butcher down the end of our road so bit of an off-the-cuff chat about meat cuts, as you do) who basically outlined the procedure, gave me my allotted daily time slot for the next three weeks and dished out some moisturizing cream samples to help with any skin issues which may arise down the line.
Radiotherapy basically uses high-energy waves to damage the DNA inside the cancer cells. It’s the ‘clean up’ after the chemo has shrunk the tumours and surgery has whipped out any of the remaining cancer cells. What those two don’t eradicate between them, the radiotherapy, in theory, should finish off the job. A bit like a caped crusader armed with a Dyson.
If the operation had been a mastectomy, then radiotherapy would not normally be required. But with a lumpectomy it is. So here we are – topless (again) and lying in a tunnel trying not to move, get claustrophobic or shiver (because the room temperature is baltic).
I had a CAT scan a few weeks ago and was tattooed so I now have four ink dots around my chest area which lines up the ‘zapper’ machine to the targeted area. They look like blackheads. Maybe after all this is over I’ll join the dots up with something decorative!
The six-week interval in treatment has been a welcome break although I hit a wall this week as the impending new schedule approached. Not literally, although my head was close to repeatedly banging on it. I think I was just suffering from a severe case of ‘fedupitus.’ This cancer process is arduous and can feel like it is never-ending at times.
I’ve been back and to the hospital so many times over the last few weeks I’ve lost track and have shares in Shell diesel and the two car park attendants are invited for Christmas lunch.
To sum up there’s been a whirlwind of post-op appointments – I had a seroma (build-up of fluid) drained from the operational scar (Revenge of Derek the Drainage Bag as he was probably removed too soon); I have endured three one-on-one painful physio sessions on my arm from Sonia, the lady I love to hate because she causes me pain, but it’s helped so shut up and put up Kaz and I also now go to Malaga hospital every Monday for the foreseeable to take part in a ‘shoulder’ strengthening group session with said physio Sonia and other ladies with missing lymph nodes.
My right shoulder is pathetically weak. Although on closer inspection it appears that I have something called a ‘winged scapula’ – which is basically caused by a damaged thoracic nerve (which would have happened during surgery when they whipped out my lymph nodes). This is the motor nerve for the serratus anterior muscle which is responsible for shoulder protraction. Yes I’ve been googling! This means my shoulder blade on the right-hand side pops out (like a wing!) when I lift my right arm in the air.
Freaky when the physio showed me a video of my back, but am now doing targeted exercises to sort that additional side effect out, coupled with exercises to increase shoulder mobility and strength and reduce the risk of lymphedema (which is now hindered due abnormal shoulder blade thing going on). Some days it feels like a vicious circle and I’m not sure what part of my rehab to tackle first!
I’ve had a follow-up consult with Dr Kildare outlining the plan forward and after the 15 sessions of radiotherapy he dropped the bombshell that I need to complete another eight sessions (ie: every three weeks for six months) of immunotherapy (insert big sweary tantrum and trembling bottom lip).
This is the advised treatment to curtail the stubborn and feisty Triple Negative type cancer and is the best course of action to help prevent recurrence. So, suck it up buttercup.
Not as bad as chemo and will take just half an hour or so. But it does mean a day at the hospital every 3 weeks doing bloods, consult and waiting around for the chair slot in the day hospital again before I can be completely done with this cancer lark.
On the plus side my eyebrows have returned! So, my dodgy makeup is no longer required and I don’t resemble an AI robot. Eyelashes are a bit slow on the uptake and when I wear mascara I look like one of those porcelain dolls with 10 eyelash strokes.
It’s all gone a bit wild in certain areas. My legs looked like a yeti until my genius friend suggested I get a leg wax due to re-growth being so fine.
The hair on my head is also returning slowly, although it’s a bit sparse, patchy, and feels like peach fluff at the moment. I could well end up with a fuzzy Mohican style at this rate unless it all evens out.
Meanwhile, armpit hair hasn’t yet put in an appearance (thankfully). The removal of the lymph nodes possibly means my sweat gland was whisked out too because my right armpit doesn’t seem to sweat! Fifty per cent saving on deodorant for life! Bonus!
two steps freelance 