Monday, March 28, 2011

Zip zap zip

My radiation simulation – a kind of dress rehearsal for radiation – involved five technicians hovering around my inert, topless body and taking turns poking and prodding me into position on the un-comfy metal table, while urging me to hold still and lay heavy. Their multicultural combo of accents, the many monitors and hulking high-tech equipment, and the general futuristic vibe made me feel as if I were guest starring on an episode of Star Trek.

I certainly have the hair-do for it.

At one point, a Russian man and a Chinese woman stood on each side of me, both scribbling on my chest with their special medical markers and reciting numbers that seemed nonsensical to me: 84, 23, 17 (I wanted to pipe up, “Hut!”). Now I felt as if I were a disputed Sino-Soviet border territory, perhaps Mongolia or Manchuria, being divvied up.

Simulation involved maintaining a fixed position for a good (or, rather, bad) 45 minutes.

“My neck hurts from tilting my head at this angle,” I complained.

“You need to keep it like that; we don’t want to accidentally irradiate your throat,” a technician said.

Talk about instant motivation to stay stock still. A crick in the neck or months on a feeding tube? I’ll go for Door Number 1.

They try to liven up the experience with Muzak and a Hallmark-worthy mural on the ceiling depicting a verdant nature scene in unnaturally bright colors. Someone with a sense of humor had decorated it with little stickers of monkeys , penguins and other assorted geographically incompatible critters cavorting through the fake woodlands. The radiation-delivery device -- a linear accelerator, which looks like a giant’s dinner plate mounted on a mechanical arm -- was also festooned with little stickers of animals and Disney characters.

The actual radiation session was a lot quicker; I was in the room for less than 15 minutes.

“Jump up; butt here, head here and boob out,” a friendly technician said, patting the metal table. Another one tucked a warm blanket around my lower half.

Once they arrange me to their satisfaction, the techs file out into their control room where they supervise the proceedings on closed-circuit monitors. It looks just like the live-TV control room I’m using to seeing on Academy Award broadcasts.

As I lie on the table, a mechanical arm swings the accelerator into different positions over me. When it’s actually zapping, it emits a high-pitched whine and a sign that says “X-ray in progress” lights up on the wall. The four different zaps take just a few minutes in total.

Including putting on the hospital gown, waiting to be called, getting prodded into position, getting zapped and getting re-dressed, each daily radiation session takes about 30 minutes. My standard night-time exhaustion is now kicking in earlier and earlier, and my chest area is starting to feel tender.

Summoning up the full power of my command of the English language, I would say that in comparison to chemotherapy, radiation sucks less.

7 comments:

  1. Radiation Sucks Less
    (For Carolyn with Love)

    Oh to be a famous writer
    for the SF Chronicla
    And to have the command
    of godzillions of words
    Phrases
    Sentences
    Paragraphs
    And all the punctuating
    That all the books
    In all the libraries
    In all the world and universe
    Have

    She would still say…
    "Radiation Sucks Less"

    Because SHE KNOWS!!!!!

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  2. Zip (cure) Zap (cure) Zip (cure)....or maybe Zip (sucky cure) Zap (sucky cure) Zip (sucky cure) ... ok one more Zip (sucky cure XOXOXO) etc...

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  3. Yay! Here's to less sucking! Er... sucking less! Um... less suckiness? Whatever. I'm glad it's not as traumatic anymore.

    Love Jordan

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  4. You are so poetic. Your radiation is daily? How long do you go through this dance? I'm glad it is better than the chemo. Was your mother and brother planning to visit this spring? Has that already happened?

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  5. Was thinking of you and thought I'd stop by, at 3:50 am EST, and send you my love. Blogs might be less popular these days, but I do like the fact they're open 24/7/365 (and if, like Dave's Luncheonette, you could also get an egg cream, I'm sure blogs would be more popular than ever).

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  6. Here's a song for you to sing whilst getting your radiation treatments, courtesy of Walt Disney's "Song of the (Goin') South:

    "ZIPpity doodah, ZAPitay-ay,/My oh my what a wonderful day!/Plenty of ions, coming my way/Zippity dooday, Rad-i-a-tion!"

    Okay, so its not Shakespeare, but what is (except Shakespeare)?.
    Thinking of you and sending beams of healing light to counteract the crap, and to turbocharge the love.
    Lori Leigh, loving you, dear Ms. C

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  7. Your faithful readers (stalkers? lurkers?) wish you the best.

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