So for those of you who don't know, I was recently diagnosed with cancer, endometrial cancer. My clue you may ask? Well, a 13 day long period had something to do with it. Thankfully my doctor disagreed with me when I thought it might just be "the change" coming. After all, I am 44. It was pretty scary to hear that you have cancer, especially for someone who has felt like it was chasing her most of her life. (I had two sisters that died of breast cancer at young ages). But I chose to not let it scare me out of action, so in December I had a hysterectomy. Standard procedure they say. It was a big step seeing as I've never had kids. But again, at 44, what was the likelihood of THAT??
They got all the cancer, but it was decided that I should go through radiation treatments. The doctor said it was prophylactic. It took all I had in me not to laugh when he used that word. I mean it's not every day that a 44 year old virgin has that word used in her presence. I mean, I know what he meant, but really, couldn't he used preventative instead? Of course, the doctor didn't know that much about me, so he wouldn't have gotten it. And of course my older brother was in the room too, he really wouldn't have understood my amusement.
Well, I started treatments this week finally. The whole process is way complicated, which I guess is a good thing when they are shooting radiation at your body. (Isn't that the same stuff that everyone freaked out about when Three Mile Island nearly melted down when I was a kid...just kidding) They make you go for three pre-treatment appointments. One to meet the doctor and have him tell you they are doing radiation (duh) and one for them to aim the machine. They use lasers and cat scan machines and the high techology of sharpies to mark where they are going to shoot. They make a form to keep you in the same position everytime. They also put tiny freckly tattoos on your body. Me, who swore that I'd never get a tattoo because of the possibility of it turning from something cool looking to something scary when I was old. What I don't get is at the last session they mark you again with the sharpies. I've discovered that my hips are really ticklish.
I've also discovered that there's no room in all of this for modesty. I mean, they try, they really do, but honestly, what good does a piece of cloth the side of a paper towel do?? I mean even Tarzan got a loin cloth! I won't even talk about the lovely gowns they give you in the hospital.
Back to treatment and the reason for the title. So finally on Thursday, I started the actual zapping. I have to thank my friend Larry W for the use of that word. (We must pray for Larry, he's going through much more serious treatment than I am. I appreciate his sense of humor for referring to the zapping doctor and poison doctor though) However, I must take credit for the development of the adjective and adverb form. Zapilicious and zapiliciously. A friend asked me how it went after my first treatment and for lack of a describer, I said "zaplicious?"
They put you in a room with the big ugly machine that they even refer to as RoboCop and have you (in my case anyway) lay down with your lower section exposed. (Like I said, no room for modesty) RoboCop moves all around you and I kid you not, literally makes a zapping noise. The first time I thought it was a hum, but no, it's definitely a zap. You can imagine what I was thinking the first time it happened, I mean I saw that movie in the 80's about the nuclear holocaust. What was that thing called, anyone remember? So it zaps me all the way around, seven different angles, two times each angle. That's a lot of radiation I would think. Guess that's why they take your reproductive organs BEFORE they do this. Though maybe I could have had a "Hero" if they'd kept it all in there, you know a maybe I would have had a new Peter Petrelli.
That noise, it definitely was a zap and hopefully it was the noise that will eventually put all this mess behind me.
