Met the radiologist today. She’s Dr. K. 8 minutes from my house and in a brand new facility across from the Whole Foods at Ogden and 294. She came highly recommended from my text-support friend Laura who was rather famous among the folks I met today. It was mostly a history review, embarrassingly admitting my college smoking days, yet again, and the details of my kids births, the death of my mother, that I have no known allergies, am emotionally stable (at least for the moment) and I possess a living will. Then they all checked out my sassy new boobettes and we got to business on getting to the point of the meeting.
It’s going to go down like this. No more fills. I can top off the new girls after radiation is complete. On Tuesday after the holiday I’ll have a mold made of my chest. They use some sort of microbead / bean bag type mold, suck the air out of it, and it holds my shape. This mold will help ensure I am in the proper position each time. And a CT scan to assist in planning. This will be the basis of my radiation plan. The following Monday we will have a dry run set up, they’ll mark my skin for exact laser placement/pointing with a permanent marker – NOT tattoos – which I will have for the duration of the treatment, which is 33 sessions. That’s 6 and one half weeks, daily M-F, lasts about 15 minutes. All summer. Which is bullshit. But this place is beautiful.
I got the low down on all the side effects, too. Fatigue. Sun burn. Sun sensitivity. Changes to the suppleness of my skin. Supple is one of those words, like moist, that you sort of cringe to hear, yet they are all concerned with the suppleness of this and that wherever I go.
The best news is we are in the car on the way to my happy place – the U.P. – to see my Aunt Nancy & Uncle Don for the weekend and play with all of my cousins, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew and all my Michigan girlfriends and their dudes. It’s a weekend to refuel. A desperate escape – our only one as a complete family this summer – to not think about fucking bullshit cancer and all that it’s robbed me of so far this year – and go home ready to face the second half of my story with a little liver damage and lots of fantastic memories.
Oh, and, they made me take a pregnancy test. I haven’t thought of pregnancy in 10 years. Tubal ligation thanks to upside-down-Ray-Ray forcing a c-section. I peed all over my hand in the process. You’re welcome.
Here are the current state of the girls so you can get the image of me peeing on myself out of your head and back to happy thoughts, like cleavage.