What a difference.

Wow, I looked bad. And felt worse than I looked. Now I've got some color in my cheeks, some fuzz on my scalp, some get up in my go. Amazing what a couple of months away from chemo will do for a gal. 

Giving thanks.

I'm thankful that my hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes are coming back. Thankful that I threw up only once this week. Thankful that the chemo is over, the radiation is over, the cancer is gone. 

Looking forward to the day I can be thankful my tastebuds have returned (I can't taste anything sweet), the day my saliva isn't sticking to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter, the day the early-morning nosebleeds have stopped, the day I don't wake up wheezing like a dedicated smoker, the day the skin on my neck and chest has changed from scaly and purple back to smooth and pasty.

This will take about 8 weeks, but when that all happens, I'll be thankful then, too.

Radiation is not easy.

The picture at right was taken from above by the radiation tech. The sides of the mask clamp onto the table so I can't move. Makes you hungry for fava beans and chianti, doesn't it?

I thought day-draining side effects were behind me. Not quite.

During my third radiation treatment, I started feeling nauseated on the table. As soon as treatment was over and the techs released me from my mask, I told them I thought I was going to throw up. "Oh, it's probably just anxiety," one said. No, that wasn't it, I thought. If I were going to throw up from anxiety, that would have happened on the first day, when the new sensation of being bolted down completely creeped me out.

I left the office and drove about 300 feet before I had to pull my car over and yak in a Target parking lot. I called the office to tell them I'd just lost it, to ask if that was expected. The nurse said when a large portion of the body is radiated, like an entire chest, which is my case, sometimes patients throw up. Sometimes.

I've been throwing up with regularity ever since. About 3-4 times a day, mostly at morning and at night. It's a combination of a raw esophagus, acid reflux, and the thick, sticky saliva I'm choking on. All caused by the radiation. I'm on liquid lidocane (disgusting yet effective), Miles's mixture (like Pepto and cough syrup combined), Zantac, Prilosec, and lots and lots of water. Swallowing is painful, so I haven't been eating much, which makes throwing up all the more painful. I've lost eight pounds in the last week. 

Some have asked, if the cancer is gone, why do I need the radiation? Protocol for dealing with Hodgkins combines chemotherapy with involved-field radiation. Even if chemo kills the cancer, it is very likely to return soon without radiation to the lymph nodes contained within the involved fields. Chest and neck, in my case. And I don't want it to come back.

I have four more 15-minute treatments ahead of me. The doc says it will get worse before it gets better. I've returned home from work, using vacation days until I'm able to go back. Another bummer.

So much easier than chemo, everyone told me. Well, in a way, it is. My pain is in one place: my throat. With chemo my entire body ached with exhaustion. But no matter how old you get, throwing up is just traumatic. Painful. Pitiful. At least I've got Graham here to hold my hair back for me. Wait...