Internal radiation (hospital time)

The following post will be disjointed.  It will not be technical and detached.  It was a lot to go through.  Forgive the typos.
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On Sunday, November twelfth, my husband and I went to Dr. Marvelous' hospital (from hereafter called City Block Hospital).  It was a rocky start.

First, they had us go to the eighth floor in one wing.  As we're being checked into the room (having already been in the room for about a half-hour) we're told I'm supposed to be on the fourth floor of a totally different wing.  Once we get into that room, we realize there isn't anywhere for Mr. Davicob to sleep but an uncomfortable recliner.  The bed I generally like (a bariatric bed) had to be ordered in special and took well over an hour to be set up.  We also had a nasty shock when we found out that Mr. Davicob, being my guest, would have to pay for his own meals; we're poor and no one told us.

During my consultation with Dr. Marvelous prior to my external radiation, she mentioned an epidural might be best to limit my exposure to multiple doses of anaesthesia.  I thought it was something floated by, something to be discussed with me in more detail beforehand.  Nope.  Within a few hours of being there I met Ten, an anaesthesiology student who walked me through what to expect (and do) during receiving an epidural.  He told me to arch my back like an angry cat or shrimp... I won't forget it.  Soon after, I met with another anaesthesiology student who had to start an IV line because the IV Team couldn't.

After my husband and I had lunch, my bed was fixed and I was transferred into it.  My husband stayed in his uncomfortable chair the entire time we were there.
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I was given two bed baths in preparation for the operating room.  The first was given to me by a sweet, gaming girl.  The second, by a matronly nurse with seven children who told me, after I admitted I was nervous, that she had a kidney transplant a long time ago... that what I think will be.

I had blood drawn early that morning and was taken down to a "waiting bay" before the sun rose.  City Block Hospital has a "Transport Team" that moves you, bed and all, to where you need to be.  These are some of the nicest people in the hospital, though everyone was great to me.

I was given my epidural by Ten and another anaesthesiology student with an anaesthesiologist overseeing.  A lovely nurse held my hands and helped me balance the entire time.  It was easier than I imagined.

Soon after, I was put into another waiting area as the operating room was prepared.  I met even more new people.  The anaesthesiologist with me in the operating room sang "Jingle Bells" and spoke of his unabiding love for all things Christmas.  Dr. Marvelous held my hand in the operating room until everything was ready.  The doctor I call "the second surgeon" (Dr. U.) was in the operating room as well.

On top of my epidural, I was given more medicine that kept me calm, though not asleep.  I zoned out after a time, so I only remember certain parts.  I know the ultrasound tech was called in to verify the placement of the delivery system inside me.  I remember parts of the gynecologic exam I had after I was first scrubbed down.  I remember not caring about who saw what part of me, even though there were a fair amount of people in the room (City Block Hospital is a teaching hospital).  I remember everything being finished, but the memory of getting back to my hospital room is hazy.
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I had my first scan that afternoon.  It's basically a CT scan without the IV or breath-holding.  The scan is to check if everything placed inside is still where it's supposed to be.  I had one both days I had internal radiation.  I met even more new people.  I swear, half of those girls were named "Amber".

Once it was confirmed nothing shifted, I was given my first dose of internal radiation in another room.  The machine is much quieter than the external radiation one.  There was no transferring to another table.  It was by my feet, not something that swings around my body.  It would sound like puffed air with only the occasional louder click.  I still jumped, though.  I tried not to.  The material that goes through the internal system looked like tiny, metal beads on clear wire.
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I had the epidural in me until after my final treatment was over because the system was in me for the duration.  I got so hot, but they don't allow fans so I had to use a cool washcloth on my face.  I didn't have pain from my waist on down, but everything else ached because I couldn't roll over or sit up from early Monday morning until Tuesday night.  I didn't eat much because I was scared of choking.  I itched.  They stopped my bowel movements because I couldn't shift to be cleaned.

There were times I told my husband I couldn't do it, couldn't manage until everything was over.  I threw up a bit, once, because I got heat sick.  My IV blew out so they had to use an ultrasound machine to find a new vein.  They put me on a normal hospital bed after the operating room and I never slept on my bariatric bed again.
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Tuesday night, Ten took out my epidural.  As soon as I got my feeling back, I wanted my catheter out.  Unfortunately, I had gloriously painful hours of my body trying to reject it before it was removed.

The night techs took a sponge piece out of my bed and changed my sheets.  After that, things got a little better because I could move more freely.
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Early Wednesday morning, I started having issues with urination.  I would go frequently, with almost no warning, and zero hope of holding it until the bedpan arrived.  I would go every twenty minutes... tops.  I started to think I wouldn't be able to go home,

Thankfully, everything slowed down just enough when the IV was removed.  Mr. Davicob and I made the three-hour trip home without incident... where I promptly peed all over the bathroom floor.  At least it's tile!

Brachytherapy, hospitalization, more stress

Monday, I was told by the nurse at the external radiation hospital that the next hospital might want me by the following Monday.  I hadn't heard anything about it.  My case manager emailed to say the hospital said I'd be going into the operating room on Monday.  The next day, while I was at treatment, Dr. Marvelous' hospital called and told my husband I'm supposed to be there at noon on Sunday.

I need to coordinate my van rides.  I need time to process.  My husband and I were informed there would be a regular appointment before I went down for my brachytherapy.
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My last external radiation treatment was Tuesday.  I almost got weepy, leaving my team for the next thing.  They presented me with a cute "graduation certificate" about my bravery and all that.  I bet they say that to all the people.

I came home Tuesday with all the new information from my husband and hit the ceiling.  So many changes.  We were the absolute last people to know when we should have been the first.  The transportation company was not answering.  My case manager was at a conference.  I screamed once Mr. Davicob left to run an errand.

The van company called in response to the message I left.  They're low on wheelchair-van drivers and have no idea if someone can take me Sunday.  Am I sure, absolutely sure, I can't have the treatment at a closer hospital?
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Wednesday arrives and I confirm with my case manager that we're to meet Friday to talk things over before admittance.

I cancel my sister Saturday (who I'm barely seeing through this) because that's packing day.

The transportation place calls and says they found a driver.  The long-distance hospital will have to figure out how to get me home because they can't give me a release time.
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Thursday, my wheelchair gets new tires.  The repairman is nice, efficient.  He tells me I should start the process for getting a new wheelchair because it takes quite the while.  I can only focus on the "cancer stuff".  He reiterates four times.
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Today's meeting with my case manager went well, was short.  She's very personable and tries to help whenever possible.

While I was getting ready for my case manager's visit, Dr. Marvelous' hospital called to discuss my medicines.  The woman asked when I had my pre-op physical done... I haven't.  She asked what I was told about stopping certain medications (like my Warfarin).,. I wasn't.  I waited for a call-back most of the afternoon to be told to stop taking my Warfarin from today on out (something I said I was doing anyway because,,, surgery).

This and many other crossed wires, missing basic pieces of information, etc. are making me even more nervous than I would normally be...

Seeming apathetic and not making a will

A friend of mine just learned about my cancer tonight.  I didn't think that someone may not know yet.  As I'm telling the specifics, she says something along the lines of "you are taking this better than I am, it almost seems like you don't care."

I don't get emotional telling people.  I state my diagnosis and its details matter-of-factly, might even sound chipper as I do so.  No need to deliver sad news with more negative emotion if I can help it, and I don't let myself dwell in the land of "what-if" for too long, though stop there briefly on bad days.  Maybe because every indication I've been given is that there's a good chance of making it out of here alive...

If I often thought about the possibility of death, the real dread that the word cancer conjures, I'm uncertain how I'd cope.  Would I even attempt to save my own life past the bleakness?  Would I awaken with joy and hope, or would I fear the future until my last breath?

She and I both have health issues.  We've faced health scares and, on occasion, a makeout session with Lord Death.  And we still smile and love and soldier on, so I'm uncertain why my reaction upset her.  Perhaps because it was just a shock to hear the news.

She also said I should write out a will.  Though I've given some thought as to my final wishes (how could I not?), I'm refraining.  I'm not terminal.  I have nothing of real worth.  Would my family really fight over my Nintendo 3DS?  My clothing that's as far from "designer label" as clothes can get?  I have no expensive jewelry or land, no vehicles. Much of what I own my husband co-owns.

I only have two sets of things that carry any value in this world:  My poetry (however little that's actually worth), and the people I'm lucky love me in return.  The memory I leave, the love I bestow, is the greatest thing I can give them.  And they will carry me with them... hopefully leaving gentle fingerprints upon other hearts.  There is nothing more than this.  It is enough.

Side effects (personal, graphic post)

Quick notes before today's post:

1.  My surgical masks arrived, my INR is completed (3.1), and the wheelchair repairs will take place Thursday morning.  The outside stresses are easing.

2.  The following post will contain information about radiation therapy's side effects.  There will be discussion of bodily fluids and intimate areas.  If you have issues with these things, please don't read.

3.  I can't speak for what everyone is going to go through.  All bodies are different.  Areas being treated can be different.  Even doses vary among patients.

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Two radiation treatments to go before I'm done with the external part of this.  I, of course, am experiencing more side effects this close to the end.  They aren't pleasant, but they aren't as severe as they could be.

My bathrooming issues include diarrhea and symptoms similar to a bladder infection.  The diarrhea started about 40% of the way through treatment and Pepto Bismol doesn't curtail the issue... Imodium does.  The bladder problems came about a bit later, but are more painful.  It stings to urinate, I have slight blood in my urine, and the frequency I pee is increasing.  The diarrhea hasn't come with cramps, thankfully.

I'm tired.  Some people have said the fatigue of radiation therapy is like staying awake for three straight days.  Though I nap six days a week, it hasn't been that severe.  Maybe during the next phase...

My skin under my belly and at the top of my butt is getting irritated and somewhat itchy.  My husband has said the skin may have a darker tint.  I doubt I will get the open sores some patients have because I'm almost through.

I'm losing some of my pubic hair.  This isn't a nice, even loss, but more like patches.  I imagine it like a coyote with mange, though it probably isn't that bad.

The last thing I loathe to include here only because I've heard conflicting things about whether or not radiation therapy can cause it.  I don't want people upset because they think it's going to happen to them and something similar has occurred with me before.

I had an abscess between my labia two or three inches long for about a week.  I could barely sit and each move felt like a blowtorch to my private area.  I've never experienced anything that severe before.  I'd like to say it was just horrible timing... but I don't know.

Well... that's it.  Outside of the last possible side effect it hasn't been too horrific.  Inconvenient, yes.  Messy, sometimes.  Painful on occasion. But, not anything like I imagined.

These side effects might stay around even after treatment ends.