31 October 2008

happy halloween!

No, this isn't my Halloween costume! It's me in my new Tinkerbell pyjamas. Thanks Robbin!

But since it is Halloween, wanna hear something scary? 4 surgeries, 25 radiations, 6 chemotherapies, 4 Brachytherapies, low blood counts, food restrictions, diarrhea, nausea, doctors, nurses, techs, oh my. Frightening, isn't it?

But that's been my life for the past little while. That is what I have been through, mostly in the past 7 weeks. Makes me cringe just thinking about it...

Today I reached a milestone - the end of my 25-sessions of external beam radiation. They gave me a certificate of completion and everything. Yippee! Except don't jump up and down quite yet - I'll start the "bonus round" of radiation on Tuesday - somewhere between 3 and 5 very targeted treatments. But Dr F assures me there will be no more after that.

And I may have had my last chemo yesterday. Technically, there is another one scheduled for next Thursday, but Tuesday I will have labs done and it will depend on how low my blood counts get. Things are pretty low right now, but they are still waiting for those labs before they make the call. Part of my wants to get that one last treatment, but a much bigger part of me REALLY wants it to be over with!

It isn't that chemo is bad, it's just that the weekends after chemo just so incredibly suck. I know it sounds dreamy to stay in bed for three days and watch TV, but it really isn't. But like I said, the treatments themselves still aren't that bad. Two weeks ago, MT Jeanne came with me and I finally beat her at that game of Scrabble! Did I win? Or did she let me win? She doesn't generally do that, but then again, I am sick and she might've felt sorry for me. I'm sure she'll say she didn't throw the game, but that means I beat her fair and square - just the way I like it!

But what's REALLY over (and I do mean REALLY) are those damn Huber needles that I've had to endure for multiple days sticking in my chest. I hate them, hate them, hate them. The first time I had one, the nurse covered it with gauze so I couldn't see it. But the last few times, it has just been a clear dressing. Which is really gross to me. Mirrors have not been my friends. But if you'd like to see, click here!

Brachytherapy this week was fairly uneventful. Things went easier because I was already wired up, so I didn't have to get stuck by Nurse J. (The week before, she had to stick me twice and it left a yucky bruise.) Oliver stopped by to wish me luck. I got my mega dose of Versed and got really really loopy. I'm hoping I won't have to go to rehab to get off the stuff! LOL

Dr F inserted the "tandem and ovoid" lollipops in a different configuration so there was no need for me to be tilted at an odd angle, and no need to clamp off my cath bag! That was awesome! Yes, it hurt to unpack everything, that is to be expected. However, it went much quicker than last time and I was home by 2pm. I get a week break from Brachy (would that be a week Brachy-break?) - my last one is scheduled for November 12. My last treatment.

Let me repeat that: My last treatment will be November 12. That means that 12 days from today, I will get my last treatment.

After that, all I have to do is feel better in time for brussels sprouts on Thanksgiving! I don't want to jinx anything, but I'm starting to feel a little excited about this.

I'm going to take a nap now so that I'll have some energy to hand out Halloween candy to all the little hoodlums tonight. Candy that I can't eat. Seems a little cruel, don't you think?

For those keeping score:

Thanks for all your calls and emails - I really appreciate you sticking with me through this whole ordeal :)

22 October 2008

a week without chemo is like a week without sunshine

And with a kitty as cute and lovable as Sunshine, that would be tragic!

But I am getting ahead of myself once again.

Today was Brachytherapy #3. It went much better than the last one - no need for Dr F to send flowers this time :)

I don't know if it is a good thing or a bad thing that hospital employees are starting to recognize me: the woman at check-in, several of the nurses, the anesthesiologist. One that definitely did not recognize me was the Ladies Auxiliary worker that brought me to pre-op. I didn't get her name - she was not interested in nice conversation. She brought two of us in at the same time, and put the other patient at one end of the changing rooms and me at the far end. She told me to put on a gown and put my clothes "in this locker." Problem was, it was locker number 19. I always use locker number 13. And, as you might already know, I am very superstitious. So when the Auxiliary Lady came back in, I asked if I could switch to locker 13, to which she snapped "no, it's at THAT end, you are at THIS end." I explained that I'm superstitious and I didn't want that number, but she didn't care. She had already attached the key to 19 to my clipboard and was bound and determined that 19 is what I would use. But I was more determined, and we compromised with 21. Just to add insult to injury, she only gave me one warm blanket instead of two. Sour puss!

I had Nurse J again. She was very nice, and genuinely asked how I'm holding up. We are both fond of chit-chat, and we talked about MT Bee going to Haiti, Julie's weekend visit, Mom's trip to VA, and Nurse J's new puppy and recent vacation in NC. But not everything with Nurse J went smoothly. She had to access my port twice! The first time, she could get no blood return and could not flush it, no matter how hard I tried to relax and not panic. So she took that needle out, and tried again. This time was perfect and got an immediate blood return. I wonder if the need for two sticks was that I didn't have locker 13...

I also got a visit from Oliver, the tech that I am (surprise!) superstitious about seeing before going under. Last week, when I was on the 1st floor instead of the 2nd (my Brachytherapies are always on the 2nd floor), I panicked when I realized that Oliver wouldn't be there to stop by my bed and wish me well. Panicked so much that the tech for that floor went to the 2nd floor to see if Oliver would come down! Which he did. This time, he was there, just as usual.

Soon, Dr L (the anesthesiologist) came by and approved not 2, not 4, but 7 mg of Versed! What a nice man :) He also gave some other stuff that made me feel nice and sleepy. Before I knew it, I was being wheeled down to the OR. Outside the door stood Dr F and Oliver. I said blah-ly "Hi Dr F" and enthusiastically "Hi Oliver!" Dr F commented that O got a warmer reception than he did, so I had to apologize for that.

When I awoke, it was around 8:30 or 9:00, and I was having the usual cath pain. I got some Vistaril and Demerol and Morphine. Oliver even stopped by there a few times and commented on the furrow in my brow - how it got less and less pronounced as the drugs were added more and more :)

Soon, T was there to wheel me to the ROCk where my treatment, and more importantly to me, my mp3 player awaited. But first, the CT-scan. This was done at a 5° angle, which is much easier without all that apparatus up my [insert euphemism here]. This time, they had to tilt my stretcher at the same angle and then slide me over. But first, they fixed it so my cath bag would be closed off and I wouldn't be able to pee during the scan. Dr F felt that having a full bladder makes an additional difference to the position of my small bowel. So that was fun.

Then it was off to the napping room (I was laying flat again). I had planned ahead this week, and had with me a fully charged mp3 player. It made quite the difference! I woke up less irate and was able to stay calm and nappy the whole time. I didn't feel like the blood pressure machine was ticking off hours. I don't even know how long I was there. Which was exactly the idea :)

Then came the treatment, which also had to be at a 5° tilt. With a clipped off cath bag. This was interesting! I can't even describe to you what they had to do to get me into that position in the treatment room! They had a new Iridium source (less degraded) so that the treatment itself only took 5 minutes and 12 seconds! That was really nice, considering I felt like any sudden move and I'd find a way to pee around the cath and all over myself (I didn't). They were surprised at how much pee I had once they unclipped it! TMI?

They also offered to show me a picture that Dr M took of my insides during the laparoscopy - don't worry, I declined. I will NOT be posting that one on this blog!

So that was really it! Dr F unpacked everything right away in the treatment room, and although it is totally painful to get unpacked, that pain doesn't last and by the time I got back to the napping room to get my IV disconnected, it didn't hurt anymore.

John stopped by Dunkin' Donuts on the way home for my ritualistic plain bagel, toasted, cream cheese on the side. And now I'm home. Tired, needing a nap, but determined to finish this blog.

But where does Sunshine fit into all of this? I'll tell you. It seems Dr M and Dr F are conspiring against me. They have decided that I will resume daily radiation tomorrow instead of Monday, with chemo on Friday. So now, the break I thought I would have is no longer. C'est la vie. These things happen.

John has to work, so MT Jeanne will accompany me and we'll finally get to finish that game of Scrabble®!

Thank you for all your words of encouragement on my recent blue day! You really are a great team of supporters!

For those keeping score...

20 October 2008

cry and the world cries with you...

Ever have one of those days? When the slightest thing might make you cry? When you can't seem to get rid of the headache that doesn't seem quite bad enough for meds? When you're just hungry enough to want food, but just icky feeling enough that no food sounds appealing?

Well, that's my day. Welcome to Monday, October 20.

I spent a nice weekend with my sister Julie. She was a good sport - didn't mind reading while I slept off the anesthesia leftover from Wednesday's surgery. We did have a nice time buying guppies, which I have repeatedly dreamed about since.

As you remember, the result of my surgery was that it was pointless - there was nothing adhering my small bowel to my uterus. In fact, my small bowel was free to move about whenever and wherever it wanted. So today's plan was to have a CT-scan tilted at a 5° angle toward my head to see if my bowel drifted away from my uterus. And lo and behold, it did!

So I'll be proceeding as planned with Wednesday's Brachytherapy, just with a little tilt to make things work a little easier on my insides.

This week, I am on a break from my other treatments: I'll start back with daily radiation and weekly chemo on Monday. So with that, and including the extra radiations that Dr F would like to tack on the end, I should be finishing two weeks later than I had originally planned - by November 14. That is, as long as nothing else gets in the way.

This should make me happy. This should leave me feeling hopeful. But this is just one of those days that I can't shake the doldrums. I can't help it, today I just feel down.

But tomorrow will be a new day and I'll be back to my old chipper self again. Back to the pithy, witty hillarity that you've all grown used to over the past months.

Back to me :-)

17 October 2008

no surgery is good surgery

Well, the best news is I'm home.

And the good news is that the sattelite collar is off my two headed dog! (see here)

And the other good news is that everything looks fabulous in my abdomen.

And even more good news is that Dr M went in laparoscopically through old incision sites so I won't have any new scars. And I don't have stitches, just superglue covered in steri-strips. (click for pic)

But the not-so-good news is that it turned out all for naught. There was nothing adhering my small bowel to my uterus. So no surgery was actually required. =C

And the bad news was that even though I had my port accessed and all ready to go, Dr M likes to have a back-up so I had to get an IV anyway. Ick!

I have an appointment with Dr F on Monday. He will do another CT-scan and see what that shows, and discuss our next step. I hope it doesn't involve getting Brachytherapy while standing on my head!

I'm not having too much pain. My abdomen is sore, but not too sore. The gas pains have not yet hit my shoulder, and when they do I hope they won't be as bad as last time since this surgery lasted about 1/4 of the time of that one. I had some nausea yesterday, but (knock wood) none so far today.

So overall, things are okay. I'm taking it easy today, looking forward to a weekend visit from my sister Julie, hoping to eat some solid food today (ya-hoo!).

Thank you all for the messages of support and love!

15 October 2008

frankenlinda goes back on the slab

Here's an anatomy lesson:

People have lots of intestines. And those intestines are not stuck in one place in the body - most of them float around in abdominal space, free to be where they want. I, apparently, am not most people. Parts of my instestines are attached. To my uterus.

Now, normally this wouldn't be a problem. I could go my whole life with my small bowel attached to my uterus and never know the difference. But since I also have cervical cancer, and thus my uterus needs to be bombarded with high doses of radiation, this creates for me a problem. This creates for me the need for more surgery.

Don't I look happy about this?

More surgery means that the timeline that I had grown so emotionally attached to is no longer viable. And just to put an explanation point on that, Dr F has planned five more external radiations, only these will be to a much smaller area. So basically, I was all set to being finished by October 29, but I was the only one! Now I'm just hoping to be finished by Thanksgiving.

(expletive) (expletive) (expletive)

Tomorrow at 9:30 am, I will undergo laparascopy (oh goodie!) to see if whatever is attaching my bowel to my uterus can be snipped, and a barrier placed between them so it won't reattach.

Which means today, I'm prepping. This time, it's Fleet® phospho-soda, an anti-emetic, and two antibiotics. I have a strict dosing schedule to follow, and I've just gagged my way through dose 2 of the diarrhea-inducing soda plus the nausea-inducing antibiotics.

Oh, on top of all that, I found out this morning that I have a UTI, which means even more antibiotics. Oh joy!

John has been a real trooper - I have lost count of the times I've needed to lean on him. He always knows just the right thing to say, and the right way to say it. I really couldn't get through this without his support. I don't know if I'll ever be able to thank him enough...

the two-headed dog loses its tail, but gains a satellite collar (or two)

One good thing that has happened is that I pulled my stitch out! To be exact, I pulled two stitches out. One was about 1/2 inch long and came out strand by strand. The other was longer, all coiled up, and was a bit more difficult to get out. It's ok for me to talk about it now, but at the time, I was on the verge of losing my cookies. It was just so gross!

To add to the gross-ness, on Tuesday I had a Huber needle attached so that there would be an easier time in pre-op tomorrow. It doesn't hurt, but not a second goes by that I'm not aware of it. (click for a pic)

doctors are human too

And finally, as a follow-up to the last post, Dr F sent me a nice flower arrangement with a note of encouragement last Friday.

It came on a day that I really needed a pick-me-up =)

Like today. I could really use a pick-me-up. Or maybe a pick-me-upper?!? But, alas, I'll have to settle for an anti-emetic. C'est la vie!

Thanks for all your words of inspiration and motivation - it really does mean alot to me to hear from you and to know you're thinking of me when I'm facing these challenges. What would we do without the internet???

10 October 2008

three months

Three months ago today, at about 8:20 am, Dr B looked me in the eye and said "you have cervical cancer." Only three months. And at the same time... wow, three months. So much has happened. Surgeries. Radiation. Chemotherapy. Oncologists. Scars. Sickness. Nausea. Medications. Side Effects. Needle Sticks x a kajillion. Tears. Laughter.

But I'm still here, still fighting, still unwilling to give myself over to the dark side. With John by my side, I have faced each challenge head on (or sometimes, head turned) and gotten thru. Only to be met on the other side by yet another challenge, bien sur. But I will continue to fight, and eventually I will win!

Here's the latest:

you brachy it, you buy it

Brachytherapy this week was, shall we say, not good. I had my labwork done on Tuesday so I could forgo all the torture of trying to get it done in pre-op. My thinking was that this would speed things up. I was in the OR on time (7:30) and was waking up in post-op around 9:00. The catheter hurt like hell, but I knew to ask for drugs right away. Nurse W was off, but Nurse H was awesome and did not leave a bruise like the one Nurse W left with the IM Vistaril (click for pics). I was given the same cocktail as last time (Morphine/Demerol/Vistaril) and again it worked like a charm. God bless drugs!!!

Nurse H made a call to get Orderly T to come pick me up and bring me over to the ROCk to get things going. But T didn't show up until over 30 minutes later. I got there around 11:00, and was taken right for the CT-scan. That went well, and it was time for the napping-room. Dr F came in to check in on me, and after seeing the CT-scan, came back in to say that my anatomy hadn't changed too much. Last time, the scan showed that my small bowel was sitting on my uterus, and this week the scan was not showing much difference. But we'll get to that in a minute. Dr F left me, and I napped. The drug-slumber wore off around noon, just in time to hear everyone at the nurses' station talking about lunch. I wanted to get on with it, but apparently everyone else was hungry. Hearing them talking about food got my stomach grumbling, and the drugs left me on the irate side of the bed.

I also overheard Dr F interacting with some other patients, and my opinion of him was cemented: this is a doctor that actually cares about his patients, and gives each one the extra care they long for. I am lucky to have him on my team! But still, there I sat, getting more pissed, wanting more and more to get the tubes out of my pooter and get my ass home to bed. All the time I'm lying there, an automatic blood-pressure cuff is attached to me. I haven't got access to a clock, but I'm guessing it goes off every 15 or 20 minutes. This is the high-tech equivalent of scratching off days like this in my prison cell nap room. Each time, my blood pressure slightly rises with my ire. Finally, they came to get me at 1:30.

Last time, the treatment took 12 minutes, and they played an awful Elton John cd. This time, because of the degradation of the Iridium sample, the treatment would take 14 minutes. But I provided my own cd: Mozart; the Jupiter Symphony and Overtures of The Magic Flute, The Marriage of Figaro, and The Abduction from the Seraglio. Much much more relaxing. The treatment itself was uneventful. Before I knew it, I was headed back to the nap room where all my vaginal accoutrements would be removed, and I could finally go home. But then, it happened...

"Dr F, Dr O on line 2" broadcast on the pager. I had heard Dr F talking earlier to a lung cancer patient with a bad cough about her going to see Dr O and them needing to discuss her case. I groaned. Please let this be a short call. Nurse B came into the nap room and removed my catheter (OUCH) and the many miles of wadding that was packed into my vag (OUCH x 1023). She left me to cry by myself a bit, and then it happened... "Dr F to the Sim Room" - he was being paged again. Crap! I had overheard that a new patient was having her first radiation - the sim - and she had seemed nervous. If Dr F was being paged, it meant there was a problem. Please let this be a quick-fix. But no. It was not to be. Nurse B came in an took out my IV, but that was all she could do.

Dr F needed to remove the tubes, but he was giving other patients the kind of care that I so appreciate him giving me. There I was, lying alone in a room in pain, knowing that John was in the waiting room, having been told it would be about 20 minutes over 30 minutes ago. I waited there for over an hour, and by the time Dr F came in, I was sobbing. I couldn't look at him. I felt forgotten, and by that time I was irate. I let him have it.

"What can I do?" he asked with genuine concern.
"Next time, don't forget me" I snapped back.

"I understand how you feel" he sympathized.
"Go home and stuff three lollipops up your rectum and leave them there for the weekend, and THEN you'll know how I feel" I retorted.

I was not at my best. Dr F was doing his best to apologize, and I was angry and bitter and hurt and insulted. And it showed. But he rose above it and went to talk to John. He apologized for the long wait. John told him that I speak very highly of him, and his response was "Well, she might not after today." But you are wrong, Dr F. I do still think highly of you. Yes, I eavesdropped; but because of the what I overheard, I know you were doing for others what you do for me. And that is to do whatever you need to in order to give the best care. I just happened to need 5 minutes of your time when you didn't really have an easy out. I trust this won't happen again.

But Dr F also had some troubling news. My small bowel is still too close to my uterus, and therefor too close to the high-dose radiation. The exposure will cause damage, but the treatment is too important in killing my cancer. I had a CT-scan this morning while laying on my stomach to see if that makes a difference. If it does, I will get treatments in that position (but while resting, I'll still be able to lay on my back). If that doesn't make a difference, it will mean more surgery to move the bowel. And - lucky me - they can do it laparoscopically!!! If anyone doesn't get that sarcasm, revisit this post. So everyone, please knock me some wood - you know I am! I should find out on Tuesday.

my two-headed dog might be staying a while

Yesterday was chemo. I was so calm in advance that I didn't even need a Vitamin V. But that's a double-edge sword: good that I'm calm about chemo, but is chemo something I really wanted to ever get so used to that I'd be calm about it? While Nurse M was hooking up my port, we had a little chat. First, she explained that even though I'm only scheduled for two (!) more chemo sessions, they won't remove my port for probably six months. They do this just in case the follow up requires more chemo. Makes sense, but I was really hoping to be rid of this two-headed dog.

Here is an artist's rendering of me during treatment (thanks, Jer):

Next, we talked about that being the third day in a row that my port got stuck. Nurse M was concerned because being stuck so many days in a row could lead to lots of scarring since the needle is going over and over into the same spot. She suggested that I get a Huber Needle (click for pic). This is a shorter needle that will be inserted on Tuesday when I get my blood drawn, and covered with a large clear dressing. A small capped-off IV tube will be attached. Then on Wednesday when I go for Brachytherapy, the IV will just need to be hooked up instead of my port being accessed. And then Thursday for chemo, they'll use that same hook-up. When chemo is over, they'll take it out. Because right now, my skin is getting abused (click for pic). This is a good thing, because it will make it easier for me and mean less scarring. But it's kinda freaky to me that I'll have this needle in my chest from Tuesday morning to Thursday afternoon. But I'll probably do it anyway.

this is so funny, it's leaving me in stitches

And now, I not only have a stitch sticking out, I have two stitches! I think it is actually one stitch, but now both ends have worked their way out. It's really freaking hard for me not to pick at it (wanna revisit my picking fetish? revisit this post...). Plus, it's freakish. (click for pic)

So that's about it for today. For those of you keeping score, I'm over halfway through this battle!!!

Thanks everyone for the supportive emails and calls and cards and comments! It means the world to me to have you hanging in there with me during this ordeal =)

07 October 2008

a dream to end all dreams

The other night, as usual, I fell asleep before John.

He was still watching TV, but I was in dreamland.
As soon as he turned off the TV, I woke up and kinda freaked him out!

To hear him say it, I was talking, trying to tell him something.
Something important.

But I just couldn't find the words.
The dream had been so beautiful, I could see it perfectly in my mind.

But all I could say was "I can't think of the words..."
But the next day, I was able to recall it fully,

and I share it with you now:
The cancer is a chain around me -

not binding me, but encircling me.
The love from my family & friends is dissolving the links
until there are only two left.
John and I each kiss one of those two links and -
* POOF *

my cancer is gone!

01 October 2008

you brachy mine, I breaky yours
how to stuff a wild bikini poonani

***WARNING: This post contains adult language and may not be suitable for youngsters.

I had been looking forward to this day for a few weeks now. Maybe "looking forward to" is a bit of an exaggeration. "Dreading" is more accurate. Because today was the day of my first Brachytherapy, the first of five Internal Radiation Therapy sessions.

Dr F had explained Brachytherapy for me by saying "you will be very uncomfortable," which didn't give me much confidence in the day. Especially since I have been uncomfortable all week with what I like to call Consti-rrhea (or should that be Dia-pation?). The chemo drugs cause one, the radiation causes the other. Logically, this should mean they cancel each other out and leave me in a happy regulated state. But no. It means I'm both. Simultaneously. And they don't make drugs that treat both simultaneously...

And to make matters even more uncomfortable, I found out yesterday that although I wouldn't have to utilize the same bowel prep I had previously used (remember the magnesium citrate?), I would have to partake of some morning-of prep that was... shall we say... quite a jolt up the ass. But we'll get to that in a minute.

As for the Brachy itself, I had an image in my mind. And that image was that bit of plutonium that Homer Simpson accidentally brings home being shoved up my hoo-hah, glowing green for 10 minutes or so. But I couldn't be further from the truth. The truth about Brachy is that the Iridium-192 seed is smaller than a grain of rice. And what is actually shoved up my hoo-hah are three applicators; intra-va-jay-jay tubes that have receptacle tips to hold the Iridium. And around these tubes is placed yards and yards of packing material. (Click here to read more)

So here's how my day went:

Woke up at 4:30 am to face the ultimate in humiliation. And to make it even more humiliating, I'm including the picture from the instructions that are printed on the outside of the Fleet® enema box, so that the guy at the check-out counter at the drug store can visualize what you'll be doing, thereby heightening your embarrassment. Let us bow our heads for a moment and thank the gods of humiliation. Thank you, gods of humiliation, for letting me cross one more demeaning, shitty task off my list of things I wish to never do. Let's move on.

We arrived, as instructed, at 6:00, and were told that I needed to get labs drawn but the lab didn't open until 6:30. So John & I went over to the lab waiting room to wait. When the time had come, the nurse called me to the window (I was the only customer). Remember, Reader, that port I got installed a few weeks ago? The one I went through hell to get? The one that freaks me out more than a two-headed dog? The point of this port is that as long as it's in me, I will have no reason to get stuck in a vein. Ever. But when I explained this to the nurse in the lab, she explained right back that they don't do that there; they are not certified to do blood draws through ports. Oh really? Well, you can cross my name off your list, Miss Thing, because I will find someone else who is certified!

We went up to the second floor and rehashed the whole lab ordeal with the Same Day Surgery Intake Lady who called Nurse D who said that she was more than willing to sort it all out. They called me in, I kissed John goodbye, and my real adventure began.

This was the forth time my port was to be accessed. Generally, this is how it goes.
    Bonez: I'm a wuss. Lay me down flat or I might faint. (Head turns in opposite direction) Please don't tell me what you're doing.
    Nurse: Ok, deep breath!
    Nurse: Good blood return. Now just remember to breathe...
    Bonez: Please don't tell me what you're doing. Sniff... Sniff... (tear rolls down cheek)
    Nurse: Ok, please breathe!

How it went today was quite different. Nurse D was obviously not well versed in the whole "deep breath" of it all. Instead, she counted "1... 2... 3... " and I had to know to take that breath all on my own. And it kinda hurt. And she kept touching it. And then, even though I asked her not to tell me what she was doing, she kept talking about it with her accomplice Nurse C. And the big issue was: she was trying to get blood for labs, but the blood would not flow. Do you know why? Because when I panic, my blood pressure drops to like 80/30. No blood pressure, no blood flow. I get it. You get it. She didn't seem to get it. She kept trying to move me around: raise my head, raise my arm over my head, sit me up more, etc... In the end, what really worked was getting me talking about Dr T (the a-hole that installed my port in the first place) and my blood pressure rose and rose and the blood, she did a-flow! But I've learned a good lesson - next week, I'll get labs drawn on Tuesday by the ones that do it regularly and know to say "deep breath".

The plan was that I would be anesthetized, Dr M would do an exam under anesthesia, and Dr F would insert the applicator tubes in my sanjaya. I would be woken up and brought to the radiology floor of the ROCk (I learned today that the Regional Oncology Center shares a nickname with Alcatraz. Coincidence? I think not.) Dr S, the anesthetist, explained first that I would get 2 doses of Versed, which I tried to tell him doesn't so much as chill me out as make me talk alot, but once I got them I said "Dude, it worked this time!" I have a vague memory of being brought into the operating room, and once again asking who picked the music. But after that, nada...

When they woke me up, I had to pee. I don't mean a little tinkle or a nervous piddle, I mean a giant man-sized piss. So I tried to get up, but Nurse W kept telling me "It's ok honey, you have a cath." It was the cath that made me feel like peeing in the first place!

Nurse W was very good to me with the drugs. Having three test tubes and yards and yards of packing stuffed in your cooch is, as Dr F warned and you might imagine, UNCOMFORTABLE. It didn't hurt necessarily. But it never stopped being uncomfortable. And to add to the joy of it all, I couldn't move. I had to lay on my back, with my legs slightly askew. So Nurse W made good with the pharmaceuticals: Morphine, Demerol, and Vistaril. The only bad part was that the Vistaril and Demerol had to be injected into a muscle (combined, just one shot), no matter how hard I argued for the port.

After about an hour in recovery, Orderly T came and pushed me through the secret hallways that connect the Professional Center (which houses Same Day Surgery) with the ROCk. When we got there, Nurse K met us in the CT-scan room and I was transferred to the very narrow CT-scan table. Here I was given - you guessed it - a CT-scan. They needed to have a picture of my pooter with the tubes inside with dummy-radioactive material to know exactly where in the reservoir tip to put the Iridium seeds. This is called planning and apparently, it involves a whole team of experts and takes a few hours. During the planning, I was slid back onto the stretcher and pushed into a dimly lit quiet room where I took a 2-hour nap.

When I woke up, the uncomfortable was pretty much gone. I equate it to the pain of a tattoo - eventually, you just get used to it. What wasn't gone was my irate mental state. I. Wanted. To. Go. Home.

But I had to wait until after 1:00. They came and got me and brought me to the very high-tech HDR room. HDR=high dose radiation. HDR is one option for Brachy. The other is LDR (low dose radiation) where a low dose is left in for hours at a time. With HDR, the Iridium seeds are only in place for a few minutes. Pneumatic arms are attached to the openings of the tubes, and the Iridium is inserted via remote control. It's left there for 12 minutes, and then it's over.

Then the REAL fun begins! Dr F tried with all his finesse to make this a less painful process, but unpacking several yards of linen from the vag is never pleasant. Whatever lube they used getting the stuff in there had long ago been absorbed, and I was left with coils of fabric stuck to the inside of my peesh. Dr F and Nurse B pulled quick, like taking off a band-aid, but it was like a clown pulling a scarf out of its mouth. They just kept pulling and pulling and more and more kept coming. Finally, the packing material was out, and it was time to remove the tubes. Which are shaped more like lollipops than test tubes, with the big part all the way to my cervix. I will spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say it was NOT ENJOYABLE!!!

The only thing left was for Nurse B to flush my port and remove the needle. Which had grown accustomed to its accommodations and didn't want to leave. But before long, it was all over, and John was able to take me home. HOORAY!

I've been in bed since. Kinda loopy from the anaesthesia, kinda uncomfortable in the groinal area, definitely glad to cross Brachy 1 off the list :)

For those keeping score:

Oh, and my stitch is still sticking out. ICK!!!!

Thanks again for your continued well-wishes, support, phone calls, emails, cards, care packages, and cheering-up. I am courageous vicariously through you :)