#leukemiablows

Since I have bones everywhere and they contain marrow, I am the lucky recipient of Total Body Irradiation.  

I had to come in a few days before admission to get fitted with some special lung protectors since they can’t handle the dosage the rest of my body is getting.  I got two tiny tattoos, essentially dots that make it look like I accidentally wrote on myself.  Each is right below my neck, front and back.  I never particularly wanted a tattoo, and if I had, it would have been much cooler than these.

They also took x-rays to get the size of my lungs so they could create a perfect shield.  Yesterday, Day -9 (Transplant Day is 0), they did more x-rays to make sure everything lined up correctly with the machine.  

I have to stand in a medieval looking contraption, straddling a bicycle seat and holding on to bars while I’m strapped in with a harness.  The lung protector is a glass shield that is screwed into place, basically locking my body into place as well.  The bicycle seat is there in case I have to sit and rest during the procedure (basically for emergencies -- I’m not supposed to move, clearly).  It’s quite uncomfortable.  Once I’m all strapped in, a large glass panel is placed between me and the radiation machine.  I think it focuses the radiation so it doesn’t scatter.

Here is a picture of the contraption, though it doesn’t do justice to the overall feeling of being (s)trapped inside it.

Once I’m in place, the techs leave, the door closes and a minute or so (maybe less, seems longer) goes by before the machine turns on.  It has a creepy whine, but otherwise you can’t tell anything else is happening, of course. Apparently, I’m being bombarded with photons. Cancer.org defines Photon Radiation as “A high-energy photon beam...by far the most common form of radiation used for cancer treatment. It is the same type of radiation that is used in x-ray machines, and comes from a radioactive source such as cobalt, cesium, or a machine called a linear accelerator (linac, for short). Photon beams of energy affect the cells along their path as they go through the body to get to the cancer, pass through the cancer, and then exit the body.”

Since my lung protector is covering up some bones, later today I get to have electron therapy too, so those pesky ribs don’t get off the hook after all.  I don’t have to stand in the contraption, but instead have to sit directly in front of the creepy radiation machine.  Not sure I’ll like that any better. 

The worst part about this, so far, is the waiting around to go in.  Transportation will pick me up and deposit me nearby, but I’ve waited over a half hour to get in the room.  It sometimes takes two hours to get there, wait, get nuked, wait and return.  I don’t have a lot of patience for sitting in a wheelchair, gloved and masked, staring at a hallway. I have three sessions a day until Friday, then I only have two. Then it’s back to chemo. Waiting for that is no biggie since I’m in my room and can sleep or write missives to you, dear readers.

The best part of radiation? The techs are awesome.  They are very cheerful and encouraging.  They always tell me I did a great job.  They let me know when I’m half way through the 6 and 1/2 minutes on each side that I’m getting zapped. So far I’ve had Gerard for each session, and he likes listening to oldies stations on Pandora.  We were both singing “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” last night rather loudly. The other tech was shaking her head. I don’t have the best singing voice.