We would repeatedly whine this from the backseat rows our embarrassingly big blue 15 passenger van (nicknamed the Smurf) to our father. Without fail, his autopilot response to an impatient group of 6 children was, “15 more minutes.” No matter the real time remaining, this was his reliable answer. Well Dad (I know you’re reading this!), I’ve finished 19 out of 20 radiations. There’s a sort of childish comfort in asking yet again, “Are we there yet?
Because. I. Am. Tired. Of. This.
Only one more radiation treatment to go! Attempting to dredge up my enthusiasm to put on my positive pants.
This last week has really started taking its toll on my energy level. Such a horrible feeling to detect that there’s an invader in your body, hiding under the alias of treatment. Treatment. What a word. Is it a treat? No.
I’m so glad that I did the clinical trial to shorten radiation’s reddening, tiring duration. I’ve been receiving increased doses over fewer sessions (5 weeks compacted into 4) Mad respect for those who endure the additional week and grateful that I will not have to.
Had a nuclear medical bone scan yesterday to look for any leftover cancerous activity. Just looking for the sake of safety. And to see if there’s a reason why my fractured fibula hasn’t healed. Is it just taking longer because my system has been continually pummeled by cancer treatments? We hope that’s the only reason. To start the test, you are injected with a mysteriously clear radioactive nuclear liquid into your veins (how is it that this doesn’t burn?) Then you go home, drink a lot of water, and return in a few hours to see your skeletal system light up like a Christmas tree on their screen. If an area has an unusual amount of bone activity it will show itself to be more lit up, alerting them to further study that area. My fractured lower fibula lit up, which was expected. This does not automatically mean cancer (but they will look at it closer) I’m taking comfort in how the technician did not see any other concerning areas at first glance. I will probably find out results in a few days.
I haven’t had this test since before chemo. What a trip to be back there. It seems like a lifetime ago that I laid in that same machine. So much has changed.
As I step into my last rad treatment tomorrow, which will truly only take about 15 minutes, I can hear my Daddy’s patient voice telling me, jokingly, helping me to keep the necessary sense of humor, “15 more minutes.”