I am a reluctant member of the Cancer Community. I just came from the Cancer Clinic- I was fitted for the radiation mask that I will be wearing at least 30 times, as that is how many therapy sessions I will encounter through this next leg of the journey. It was a bizarre experience, claustrophobic (though I am not) and strangely comforting. My heart was full of fury the only other time I went to the clinic, I dared the Universe to have the audacity to make me endure even more pain and heartache with my 'battle'. Of course, I had an inkling that my fate was sealed when I was given 'My Radiation Plan' before the radiation oncologist entered the room. All I could think of is not being able to take Bu swimming this summer, having to stop breastfeeding, not being able to care for her for months. I was furious indeed when it was confirmed. I listened to the expert tell me what I was about to experience, the many side effects associated with it, and I asked several questions that I had mapped out on looseleaf on the drive up to Saskatoon. I only broke down once: when I asked if it would affect future plans to have children.
This second encounter of the clinic felt similar as I entered. I felt, nay was unapproachable. Having come from an appointment with my surgeon to get an ulcer on my tongue looked at (recommended by the dentist I saw prior... all this morning) and to get a prescription for the tonsillitis that had been brewing for two days already, I was in no mood to be around anyone. I had just been told that after radiation and chemotherapy, my chances of survival were at 50%, because the cancer was so advanced. Two people, the same cancer, and one would die within 5 years. I desperately want to reach the plateau of Boudicca remembering me, and then naturally, I would want to see her off on her first day of school, support her when friendships go awry, be the Mother-of-the-bride... I will not be satisfied with leaving her too soon.
The poor, young girls who were performing the mask fitting made the mistake of asking about my daughter, as it was marked in my file. I burst into tears and explained that I simply was not able to accept that I was about to go down this path. I was at a loss for words, just caught up in disbelief. So many people offered to be with me at the appointment, and I declined as I thought it was 'no big deal'. It apparently was.
I got the mesh-like plastic moulded to my face and it was so tight I could not open my eyes, smile, or move a muscle in my face. The feeling of it creeped me out. How on Earth will I summon the strength and patience to go half an hour, being bolted down by my neck and shoulders, with a hard, plastic face mask and receive radiation? It's depressing and anxiety-causing. The girls informed me that most people have to take attivan, and I made yet another appointment to get a prescription so I could relax.
I go for a CT scan tomorrow, where I will wear my new wares and get some skeletal and microscopic points of interest of my head and neck mapped out. I have to be at the RUH lab by 7 tomorrow morning. I've already had 7 appointments in 3 days (2 of them being dental work- I had to get a fluoride tray fitting, and sealants on my teeth to protect them from radiation, as my enamel will be stripped off). I have 2 appointments tomorrow and counting. Things only get more intense from here on in, and I am rather intimidated by this medical intervention. A part of me is purchasing a plane ticket for my husband, daughter and myself to fly away to an island to live out the rest of my days in uninterrupted bliss. Must I really face this head on right now?
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