The Cancer Chronicles VII: Rediscovering Me

I think I see it. As I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, there’s a very faint but definite, violet hue creeping up, overtaking my fair, now puffy pink completion. Yep. I think I’m blowing up into a blueberry, like Violet Beaureguard in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. For her, all it took was a stick of gum gone bad but for me, it’s worse. Whose to say the radioactive iodine pill I swallowed last Wednesday didn’t somehow react with the gallons of fruit juice I had to drink over these past few days to flush the iodine out of my body, causing me to become what I drank? Or maybe I’m becoming an apple, an orange, or even a cranberry! Ok, maybe I’m not blowing up into a blueberry, but it certainly has felt like it over these past few days as my body has been adjusting to the radiation treatment and my hormones to the thyroid medication I’ve resumed taking. It took me by surprise that my body was capable of acting out in such ways, but after talking with my doctor, I’m hopeful to resume my normal form in no time.

This past week has been filled with uncertainty as I ventured down this unknown path, which started bright and early Wednesday morning, the day of my radiation treatment. I was jarred awake at 7:20am, not by the buzzing of my alarm clock, but by a phone call from the Cancer Center requesting my presence at 8am for registration. I was a bit frustrated, ok, ticked, that I was only given a half hour notice to get ready and get over there, a trip that normally takes a half hour during morning traffic. I threw myself together in my foggy state-of-mind and headed off to the hospital, arriving about 15 minutes late, all so I could wait. And wait. And wait some more. I did voice my constructive criticism.

Meanwhile, I sat in the waiting room, thumbing through the cheesy magazines I bought to entertain me during my stay. I politely greeted the elderly gentleman who sat beside me, who ventured to ask, “ I haven’t seen you around here. Are you new?” If I weren’t in the cancer ward, I would have thought that to be the lamest pick up line I ever heard, but I guess there could be worse things. “Yes,” I replied and went on to tell him I hope this to be my first and last visit. He was midway through a series of treatments for prostate cancer. During our conversation, a bell rang, which the gentleman told me meant it was someone’s last day of treatment. I was sincerely happy for them as I looked forward to getting my own treatment over with. I am constantly reminded how fortunate I am, seeing that things could be much worse.

About two hours later, I was led to my room, pleasantly surprised to find it in the new wing of the hospital. I was thankful it wasn’t the white, sterile room I had imagined, but was a hospital room with a hotel vibe, complete with Bath and Body Works amenities and floor to ceiling windows looking out to the forest. There was one big difference though— the room was saran wrapped. Yes! The door knobs, handles, eating surfaces, light switches, chairs, pillows, TV remotes, the phone, the bathroom floors -- all were wrapped. It was like Grandma’s plastic covered sofa blew up to encompass an entire room. Like a little kid, I found myself touching everything that was wrapped just because I knew I could.

While I was waiting for my doctor to come, a hospital volunteer named Ellen came by my room to pay me a visit. In the chaos of nurses coming in and out, the absurd reality of sitting in a wrapped room flipping TV channels with a wrapped remote, and the frustration and anxiousness welling up inside of me, I didn’t quite know why she was there. In a genteel manner, she explained she was a cancer survivor twice and shared snippets of her story. I found myself easily conversing about my own experience thus far. As I talked more and more, hearing myself talk about my cancer, realizing I relate with this woman because of cancer, I started to tear up. This month has been a merry-go-round ride that has left me little time to deal with all that has happened for the sheer will I’ve needed to keep myself strong and together, to not let go. Ellen helped me realize I haven’t fully processed all that has happened yet.

About an hour or so later, my doctor came with his entourage staff of radiation safety personnel, pushing a grocery-like cart with a black box in it with biohazard symbols adhered to it. Before he came in, the nurses had me lock away my belongings and change into hospital attire, which consisted of what appeared to be garments they were going to throw away – 3xx drawstring pants, a blue gown and a robe, both with only one tie on them. Why is that? Why only one tie? I tried to make it work the best I could.

With gloves on, my doctor unlocked the little black box and with tongs, took out a little two-inch corked tube. He uncorked it and with the tongs, set it before me to consume the radioactive iodine pill inside it. I’m thinking, “I’m consuming something these people are protecting themselves from. I must be crazy!” Instantly, I was radioactive. At that moment, it was as if everyone in the room took a huge step backwards towards the door. The radiation safety doctor tested the radiation levels in the room with a Geiger counter, took notes, and left. It was quiet. I would have sporadic conversations with my doctor and the nurses until my discharge the next day. However, I got to eat anything I wanted because I was now off that diet. Yes!! The victory was sweet as I savored every morsel that my mildly nauseous stomach could handle.

After a cleansing shower, I was released to go home Thursday afternoon to the confines of my room at home, taking a twinge of nausea and swollen salivary glands with me, both of which I am still fighting. The hardest part in this experience was being home and to not hug any person or furry critter. Jasmine, on of the furries, has thus forgiven me from locking her out of ‘her’ room. I promptly celebrated by eating the breakfast of my dreams, which was found at Denny’s. Hey, it doesn’t take much to impress me. ☺

Through this experience I have become quite thankful. I’m thankful for plates and utensils that aren’t disposable, for cheese, milk, and the foods that were forbidden, indoor plumbing, remote controls that aren’t saran wrapped, the strength to get through this experience, a God that carries me, and the hugs, thoughts, and prayers that have guided me along the way.

I’m struggling to rediscover me, who I am now, and be patient, as the end result will take time to come to the surface. My body’s been through a lot this past month and I constantly need to remind myself of this.

As far as the next steps go, I go for an iodine scan next week to see where the iodine went in my body, hopefully just to the thyroid cells. I meet with the doctor the following week after the scan to go over the results. In the meantime, I look to ease my way back into my regular routine with thoughts of Maui in the forefront of my mind.