50. Radiation Therapy - Week One (Skopje) - 7Sep2020

 The doctor said as long as I arrived before 11, we could get everything done today - so I somewhat groggily headed up to the hospital in Macedonia at 9:00 am - wanting to ensure I got the car back to the logistics team in time for their mail run.

Unfortunately, what the doctor MEANT was "come in a few minutes before 11" - so I sat there for several hours waiting to be seen.  Not the end of the world - let's be honest - I had a book and a mask and waited patiently.

First there was a CATscan to create a 3D model of my breast prior to beginning treatment.  This helped them to program the computer so that the radiation is ONLY targeted at the affected areas and not sent through my whole torso.  Sounds really cool, right?  It absolutely is hypothetically - but in reality, it's laying on a table while about 10-12 nurses rearrange your boobs in a freezing cold room.  At this point, it doesn't phase me - I'd be surprised if there were ANY nurses in Macedonia who haven't had a poke at my boobs at some point in time or another during this journey.

When they finished, they needed some time to program the computer, so there was another 3 hour wait until I had my first treatment.  I've been very nervous because although i've had PLENTY of x-rays in my clumsy life, I've read about the side effects of radiation therapy and wasn't exactly sure what the process entails.

You lay down on a table in exactly the same position you were in when they took your 3D model - and then the machine moves around you and radiates you.  It's painless at the time and takes about 10 minutes.

The two radiation therapy techs are both gorgeous young men, old enough to be my kids.  But they're very positive and professional and caring - and I'm grateful for them.  Their names are Nebojsa  (Neh-BOY-sha) and Alexei.  Nebojsa is the kind one - Alexei is the super serious one.

When it was over - I drove back to the base.  No big deal.   Until about three hours later when I started feeling stabbing burning pains in my breast.  Totally normal, according to the internet.  Took some tylenol and forgot about it.

Next day - things went MUCH smoother - you go in to the changing room and put on a gown, they come and get you and take you to the radiation room, you do your ten minute treatment, and you're out of there.  It takes about an hour to drive to the hospital each way and then about 30 minutes total to complete the treatment, including dressing.  Easy breezy.  The burning and stabbing pains are normal - they aren't consistent and they aren't unbearable.  Today it just felt like I had a really bad sunburn, so I blasted the A/C on my chest the whole way home.

Three more days and all went smoothly - thankfully, there's no treatment on the weekend - which is a nice respite from the drive and the radiation.

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52. Radiation - End of Week #1

 One week down, four to go.

The hardest part about radiation therapy is getting there - the drive to Macedonia takes about 45 minutes, but can be longer if there are delays at the border.  So far I haven't had any issues crossing either way - but I credit that to being American and female.  The guards frequently want to chat about America and their experiences.  This was my favorite this week...

I hand the border officer my passport.  He looks at me.

Guard:  "You like Biden."

Me:  "What?"

Guard:  "You like Biden, I can tell.  You know why?  You're wearing a mask.  Everyone that wears a mask likes Biden.  No mask?  Trump."

Me:  <laughing>

Guard:  "See?  It's true.  I know America."  <hands me back my passport>

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Spending a week with the radiology techs, we're getting to know each other a bit - I figured anyone that spends THAT MUCH TIME touching my breasts, should at least be friends.

Both are Macedonian, both are young enough to be my kid, both would be considered "model hot" but someone a generation younger than I.  To me, they are just "the boys" and very sweet.  

The hospital in Macedonia is a remarkable difference from the public hospital in Pristina that I visited for my bone density scan.  It's clean, efficient, and they have good protective precautions in place and enforce them (mostly).  It FEELS like a hospital.  And yes, you pay more for that - I was a little shocked at being charged for the whole five week treatment on day one - but it's worth it to feel safer, even though with Coronavirus that can be more illusion than fact.

The base is still on lockdown - so the fact that I can drive back and forth (and get across the border, since Macedonia and Kosovo are not playing nice with each other in terms of border crossing due to each of their virus numbers) is a miracle.  There's always a possibility that they'll close the border for medical treatments and I'll have to stay in a hotel in Macedonia, but that hasn't happened yet. 

One nice thing - I've developed a fondness for Albanian music.  So I get to spend about two hours in the car each day just rocking out to songs I can't sing a word of - and it's a good great from the routine.  I know I'm lucky to be off post.  I know I'm lucky to be getting great care at the hospital.  There's still a deeply rooted fear that the cancer will return - probably right when I've grown my hair back out - but there's no guarantee for any of us that tomorrow will come.  So I push those thoughts back down to the pit and try and focus on enjoying the day and the beautiful things I have in my life - even in the midst of all this madness.

51. Radiation Therapy - Day Two (Skopje) - 8Sept2020

Radiation - Day 2

I've been struggling to figure out the best way to express how I'm feeling today. The best analogy I can give is from the last time I went to a tanning salon - the young lady said, "We've just changed the bulbs in that unit, you might want to cut back on the time." 

 I said, "That's all right - maybe I'll actually get some color today!" Which, of course, I did - so much so that I blistered for a week. In fact, I am more than a little surprised to find myself fighting breast cancer rather than skin cancer from those days worshipping the (fake) sun rays. But I digress.... 

Getting up out of that tanning bed, I remember the SMELL very distinctly - the smell of burnt flesh. Singed hair. It just smelled very, very WRONG - and that's how I felt walking out of radiation today. As if I'd just emerged from a microwave and my insides were still cooking. 

I spent the hour long drive home with the A/C on full blast and still couldn't stop the feeling of burning. Even now, sitting at home in front of my wall unit chiller - I can't cool down. 

 It isn't painful, mind you. Not yet, anyway. The burns will increase over time and who knows how my skin will react. But it's...odd. I'm waiting for just ONE THING in 2020 to feel normal and comfortable and safe. But until that happens, I'm guess I'm okay with odd.

48. Unsolicited Advice from Strangers

One of the things I haven't really talked about is the amount of unsolicited advice I received from people I've never met because my Facebook & blog are open to the public.  It always seems to catch me off guard - and as much as I try to view them as people wanting to be helpful, well......you tell me.

Remember God loves you. He might need you home. He is calling a lot of people home lately. He has his reasons. If he wants you home he will take you regardless of your diagnosis. But he may want you to stay and he has allowed you to discover the cancer overgrowth to draw your attention to some course corrections you need to take. Do not be hasty in accepting treatment because of fear. You have time. You can start by avoiding sugar. It is the food for cancer. Cancer is anaerobic. Eat more alkaline foods. Cancer needs an acidic environment. Sleep. It improves immune function. Disclaimer I am not a doctor. I just read.

Cancer is not a death sentence. I encourage you to watch The Truth About Cancer Documentary. Cancer occurs in everyone. Usually our immune system takes it out. If there is an overgrowth of cancer there is a reason. You can find it and help heal your immune system. Most medical doctors attack the cancer. But it is just a symptom of a malfunctioning immune system. Chemotherapy and radiation only further weekend your immune system. I haven't looked into immuno therapy, but I think that may be a better way to go. There are reputable alternative methods. Don't let your fear of death rush you into a treatment that could reduce your chances instead of help them.

I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in August of 2015. A precious friend told me about Dr james herbal mix in West Africa, She gave me his contact number and email address,I contacted him quickly so he give me guaranty that his herbal medicine will cure my cancer and i will be heal forever I said Okay.I ask him about the process for the cure,he ask me to pay for the fees which i did and within 5 working days he sent me the herbal medicine then he instructed me on how to drink it for two weeks to get cured. So after drinking it for two weeks i was cured I'm so grateful and i promise i will recommend anyone with cancer to him and that what i'm doing.Dr James Herbal Medicine makes me believes there is a hope for people suffering from Parkinson's disease, Schizophrenia, Cancer,Scoliosis, Bladder Cancer, Colorectal Cancer, Breast Cancer, Kidney Cancer, Leukemia, Lung Cancer, Skin Cancer, Uterine Cancer, Prostate Cancer, Fibromyalgia,a Syndrome Fibrodysplasia ,Epilepsy Dupuytren's disease, Diabetes ,Coeliac disease, Angiopathy, Ataxia, Arthritis, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Alzheimer's disease, Adrenocortical carcinoma. Asthma, Allergic diseases. Hiv_ Aids, Herpes, Inflammatory bowel disease,Copd, Diabetes.

I've also received alot of advice from friends - from people who have been through (or are going through) the same things I am - I am SUPERBLY grateful for that advice.  That's a far cry from suggesting some untreated herbal remedy from West Africa that appears to cure everything.  I have to be honest, I was SUPER curious about what it might contain - to be able to cure both cancer, epilepsy, dementia, herpes AND allergies - that's GOT to be some good stuff right there.

Oh, if anybody wants Dr. James' contact information - let me know.  

47. Chemo #12 - The Final Countdown

Everything I knew about chemo and cancer came from watching "Dying Young" and reading Ben Hopkin's blog - so I really think i got a pretty good deal these past 17 weeks. It hasn't been pleasant, but other than some rough days and the trauma of losing my hair - it hasn't been unbearable.

This week......the cumulative effect of all that poison hit me like a pickup truck loaded with concrete travelling at warp speed. Vomiting, pain, chills, rashes, fevers - the whole raging gamut of yuckiness.

And I'm so GRATEFUL. Grateful for 17 weeks of "not nearly this bad." Grateful for excellent care in a third world country.
Grateful for a boss that doesn't threaten to fire me when I'm having a bad day or am especially chemo cranky. Grateful for the love and support from back home that's been overwhelming.

I've got about 7 more days of feeling like absolute garbage before things start turning around - so I probably won't be wholly social - but after that, LOOK OUT world! We are on the road to recovery!

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Okay - non Facebook version.  You CANNOT even imagine the suckiness right now.  Everything hurts.  Nothing stays down.  It's too hot in here.  It's too cold in here.  I'm having chills and sweats.  My feet are burning on the bottom.  I have a really strange nasty rash.  And I'm suuuuuuper cranky.  I mean, take my normal Resting Bitch Face - add chemo cranky - and then put the whole, 'no hair, spotty eyebrows, and the one or two eyelashes remaining' and it's more than slightly terrifying.

Hence, no picture on the Facebook post - I don't really need people to remember this look today.  But I do want to remember how awful it feels right now.  I want to remind myself that I survived this and that it got better.  And better.  And better.

46. Chemo #11 - The End of Isolation

Today (Tuesday) is my last day of proactive quarantine - let me be honest, I've been isolating for pretty much the last four months non-stop - but when you can't leave your room / porch, it's the first time it felt like being in prison.  Can't take out the trash.  Can't walk around the building for exercise.  Can't pop over to the PX for an ice cream sandwich.   And I wouldn't DARE risk it - because I'm kind of....well....NOTICEABLE on base.   Not many tall, round bald women running around - so I'd inevitably be caught.

Fortunately, I had my socially distanced neighbors to keep me from going completely mad - and I did have coworkers drop by to see if we had any emergency needs  (like Ketchup - EDDIE, you're a life saver!) so it's not like we were completely roughing it.

My oncologist is on vacation, so he let me know that there would be another doctor at the hospital - there were no issues getting there and getting checked in.  Did my blood test, waited for the results for a REALLY long time, and then took my normal place on the chemo bed.

I didn't bring my laptop, and I wasn't really feeling up to reading, so I just laid down and closed my eyes.  The nurse walked in and (since I don't normally doze) came over and stood directly over me to figure out if I had passed out.  When I sensed something off and opened my eyes, I nearly had a heart attack with her peering over me - I think I probably gave her one too when I screamed a wee bit.

But otherwise - there's not much to tell.   A few hours of poison, no major issues, and I was back on my way home.  Stopped to pick up some fresh fruits - the SAME guy was at the fruit counter as last week, and he immediately put his mask on and nodded at me.  No tantrums this time, thank heavens.

Fortunately, I made it back to my room just before all hell broke loose in terms of the summer storms we've been having.  Sam allowed me to keep the car at the room until morning because it was quite literally causing flash flooding on base.  The next morning, you could see TONS of crap everywhere that had been carried through the dirt roads by the rainwater - barbeques, trash cans, shoes - it was slightly creepy.

One.  More.  Week.

I found out it will be months and months before my immune system recovers - but at least my hair will start to grow back and I won't have hellish Fridays anymore.

While I've been in quarantine I've finished two more paintings - which I've really enjoyed.  But beyond that, the isolation is starting to get to me - I am so tired of having to stay away from people.  I miss hugs.  I NEED hugs.  And singing big showtunes at karaoke.  And eating at a restaurant without having to follow the waiters to make sure they are wearing their masks.  Blah blah blah.  I get it, people.  I get it.  And if my life weren't in jeopardy, I'm not sure I'd be as diligently cooperative and compliant as I am - so know I'm not judging you.

But the sooner you wear the damn mask, the sooner we get things under control.

45. Chemo #10 - Quarantine & Boredom

Monday morning we were informed that two women living in our barracks building tested positive for Covid-19, so the four women that live on my side of the building were all asked as a precautionary measure to self-isolate for two weeks.  It may sound frightening, but we really have zero interaction with them - so it truly is precautionary and completely understandable  based on the outbreak we're currently experiencing on base.

But it put a serious concern on whether or not I'd be allowed to travel to my Chemo session on Tuesday - after much debate and discussion, I received permission provided I drive myself and wipe down / disinfect the car completely when I return.  

The hospital was CRAZY busy when I arrived - even the small chemo room off the doctor's office had another patient (which has only happened once before).  He finished up as I was beginning, and then as I was finishing up another man was brought in to the second bed.  He was fully masked, but coughing and weasing horribly.  I think the nurses must have caught my terrified eyes because they immediately threw up a screen between us and I finished without incident.  Pretty normal day of chemo, actually.

On the way back, I stopped at the pharmacy for pain meds (since the pain has been pretty awful the last two weeks) and then at the local grocery store for some fresh greens.  My iron levels are super low and I've been struggling with it - plus I was running out of eggs, which is my guilty pleasure in the mornings.  The other girls asked if I'd pick up a few things - fresh fruit, mostly - because we're all basically stuck with MREs and whatever else anyone brings by to the barracks.  And here's where things went wrong....

I picked up some fresh peaches and tomatoes - but when I went to have them weighed, the guy wasn't masked up - so I signaled him to please put his mask up (he didn't speak English, I don't speak Albanian) and he shook his head no and laughed it off.   Keep in mind, it's actually the law to mask up in Kosovo - but nobody seems to heed it.  Kosovo is currently the hot spot of eastern Europe in terms of new cases, not surprisingly.

I motioned again for him to mask up and he again refused, so I went and found the manager and asked her if she would weigh them for me since she was masked.  She came over and....well, even though I don't understand Albanian I kind of got the gist of the verbal ass whipping he was receiving.  He weighed my fruit, then spent the next ten minutes unmasked following me around the store cursing me out in Albanian while I grabbed the few items on my list.

Then Celia's boyfriend Eddie showed up to drop off a few bags from her house for me to deliver (since base is still locked down tight) - and let me tell you, the sight of this tall, dark, intimidating, muscled guy giving him the stink eye of death for harassing me was all it took.  (Which is hilarious, because he's seriously the nicest guy ever!)

I packed up my groceries and headed back to base, where I was interrogated stringently before being allowed back on - and I found this very comforting to know that the lockdown is being taken seriously.  

Headed back to the room and returned to self-isolation, but with the added bonus of being able to socialize more than six feet apart with the three other women stuck on the same porch.  Four completely different people with different backgrounds, experience, likes, dislikes - but thrown together in a common situation and finding our commonalities and strengths.

And as if this update isn't boring enough - I'm writing this on Friday, which is normally the day I hit the wall and beg for death because of the pain - and yet, I'm feeling pretty good.  So I'm going to enjoy this super boring update - and this wonderfully dull week - and celebrate that there are only TWO more weeks of chemo left.   Let's pray for more boring weeks like this!  (Even though they make a very dull blog)