If you follow the newsletter, you learned about my cancer. Over my 57 years, I have known a few people who have dealt with cancer in their lives. The latest was our friend, the late, Bill VanBeck. The problem was, I didn't in my wildest dreams have any idea what these folks were going through. I had heard about all the treatrment terms like 'radiation and chemotherapy,' but I never had any real understanding about either of them-- not in the slightest!
As a child each of us have wondered what it would be like to know the future. If you could see into the future, it wouldn't take very long for you to become rich-- most likely in the stock market. Hollywood made a lot of money with a series of fantasy films about this subject called Back to the Future. Listen friends! I have learned that one of the true blessings we have in this life, is not to know what the future holds! Suddenly, all of that changes when you have cancer.
The doctors and cancer specialists lay your life all out for you. Your daily life is completely planned for days and weeks on end! I have also found that they don't sugar coat it-- they tell it like it is. I am very lucky because I had two choices: ignore the cancer and die, or have it treated and, in my case, stand a high possibility of being cured.
In preparation for the treatment, they tell you about all of the possible side effects, as well as which ones you can expect, or bank on! When they went through the radiation side effects, it was really frightning. A week later, they went through the chemotherpy side effects and I recall shaking from the inside out! I was sitting in a chair and I felt like I had been reduced to a pile of dirty laundry! They don't say it, but in the back of your mind you know, it is this or die! Frankly, if there wasn't such a high chance of beating this cancer, I would have walked away without the treatment.
I had made up my mind to not go through cancer treatments years ago-- as Nancy Regan taught us, "Just say no!"
But, when the time comes to decide, suddenly you realize it is not all about you! That's right, you have family, in my case a loving wife, children, grandchildren, parents and one very special grandparen-- not to forget you in this list, and so many other friends. Frankly, if it was just about me, I wouldn't take the treatment option. However, in my case, that choice would be the selfish one.
My road to the cure is a long one which includes six weeks of radiation treatments, five days a week. At the start of the six week period, I get one dose of a chemotherapy drug, than another at week three (coming soon) and another at the sixth week.
For my first chemotherapy, I arrived at the Cancer Center around 9:30. I started off the day with my daily radation treatment. Soon after that they took me to a large room with a dozen or so reclining chairs with IV equipment beside each one. They started me out with a IV drip to get my fluid level elevated. Then half way through, they introduced the chemo drug. While this was going into my system I didn't notice any change. It wasn't until the next day when I noticed that I felt completely exhausted!
For the first ten days of radiation, they scheduled me for 2:20 in the afternoon, which really shot a big hole in my shop hours! I would close at 1:45 and drive into Kalamazoo. Then around 3:00 I would drive back to work if I had any energy.
Before the radiation treatments started, I went in for what they call a simulation visit. Here the patient goes in to be fitted with a custom-made head harness which they call a mask.
Because my cancer falls into the head and neck category, mine being neck, you strip down to your waist. Then, as you lay on the treatment table, part of the radiation and CT scanner, you rest your head in a plastic cradle. Next the technicians place a warm, damp, mesh over your face then fasten it with ten or more snap fasteners to the table. Then they take their hands and shape the mesh mast to conform with your facial features. Your forehead, your eyes, nose, chin and neck are all closely outlined with this mask.
When all the mask contours match your facial features, and it starts to fit tight as a glove, they fan it by hand to begin the drying process. The very next day, when you come back, the mask is fully cured and it is one of a kind! It is custom-made to fit just you! Now you are ready to start the treatments.
First you lay on the table with your head in the plastic cradle. Next they place the mask over your face and fasten it down with the snap fasteners. Under this mask is no place to be if you suffer from claustrophobia! With this mesh mask on, you can breathe through your nose, but that is about it! You cannot open your mouth, twitch your nose or even blink your eyes!
The whole idea is to hold your head and neck in exactly the same position every time you come in for a radiation treatment. When the mask was made, they made sure that I were perfectly lined up by using laser beams. To assist with the daily 'perfect' alignment, I got a small black dot tattooed on my chest. They also use this tattoo with a laser beam, so that I will be lined up perfectly on the table each and every time. Just being silly, I wondered to myself if my mother would be more upset about me getting cancer or a tattoo?
After I am in perfect alignment, the radiation technicians flee the area, closing a big six inch door behind them. They then go into the control room where everything is monitored. The table first glides me into the machine where each day I get a CT scan first, then the table glides back out. I lay there for about 5 minutes as the computer microaligns the table and my tumor with the radation gun.
When the ice cold treatment table glides me back into the state-of-the-art radiation machine, the treatment starts. I cannot see the radiation gun, but I can hear it. It sounds like the steel wheels of a freight train rolling down the track with a clickity-clack. As the radiation gun orbits my neck, it never loses sight of the tumor and blasts from all angles. It is programed not to fire as it passes by my voice box.
I guess the hardest
part is
in the people I meet. At first my
radiation treatments were at 2:20
every day. So, I walk right back to
the men's dressing room and get
into my hospital gown. In the
waiting room they have chairs and
a TV set. You sort of become part
of a group, in my case the 2:20
group. Not everyone can join this
club, you must have cancer. The
usual question to a greenhorn is,
"Where's yours?"
When the treatments start, the table glides me in to
where that wide
white stripe, around the inside of the tunnel, is lined up with
my
neck or, to be more exact, my tumor. Everyone has to leave the room
when you are at that stage, and the door to get in or out of this room
is about 8 inches thick.
I was going to get one of these for home but they cost 4 million
dollars.
Here you can see the target on the other side That is where the cancer is, on my left, they use radiation from all sides. The radiation gun, or whatever you call it, orbits around my head and it makes the sound of an old train chugging down the tracks.
The red laser line down my chest is lined up with a small black tattoo that they put on my chest (It is just a dot, I wanted it to say "Mother.") The radiation beam never looses aim on the cancer and it only stops shooting as it passes by my voice box, or vocal cords, as programed by my radiation doctor.