Today marks the halfway point of my treatment here at Northwestern. It was treatment number 18 of 35. If that is not something to be optimistic about, I don't know what is. Everything is going right on schedule, and according to plan.
Since I have been on the 7:50 a.m. schedule, Ashley has been my Radiation Therapist. She is always assisted by one or more other therapists. Bridget, Jarod, and the other Ashley, to name a few. I may have referred to her in past blogs as a tech. That is my mistake, since these young people have gone through extensive training, and are responsible for the physical portion of the treatment. Sure the Doctors and Physicists have their work cut out for them, and I am very thankful for all of the time that they spent sifting through layer after layer of MRI imaging to create the plan. Then, the therapist take it from there.
Every morning, I walk in to treatment room #4. I remove my badge, which one of the therapist scan, and climb up on the table. They always ask if I would like a warm blanket, which I always turn down. (Just between you and me, I'm waiting for them to not ask me if I want a blanket, at which point, I will ask for one. Gotta keep them on their toes.) Then the process begins.
The mask is stretched tight over my face and clamped into position. I need to get a good look at this clamping apparatus. It's not a quick - "snap, snap". It is more of a "snap", "I need you to slide down towards your feet", "snap", "Now towards your head", "snap". "OK", "snap, snap, snap". Then, I try to move around in the mask to make sure it is all locked in.
My "ready position" is when I push up towards my head, so that the mask is tight on my forehead, tip my chin down slightly towards my chest, and relax my jaw so my mouth is slightly open. (Remember, I fell asleep during my original CT Sim, so I will forever be haunted with the words, "Keep your mouth open.") I shift my upper torso slightly to the left which aligns a tattoo dot on my chest with a laser. Next is X-rays.
This is the physical part of the treatment. These therapist are tasked with making sure that I am in perfect alignment with the computer plan that the doctors put together. They take X-rays of my position on the table and overlay them with the plan. Even the slightest mis-alignment needs to be adjusted. The plan calls for a 1mm window of tolerance. They come in and adjust me on the table, then another X-ray. Sometimes, it takes three or four tries. And, sometimes, it just doesn't feel right, so I have to signal for them to start over.
Once we are in alignment, it's game on. The gantry is set to position #1, and the nozzle is set to it's position #1. The familiar "ding" tells me to hold that position. We are ready to start.
The blue flashing light means that the protons are being released. It sounds like a lightsaber from Star Wars. I can see it through the corner of my eye as it swooshes from side to side. The target area under my eye is a short, straight swoosh, about an inch long. On the side of my head, it takes several long, curved arcs that cover the side of my face from the forehead to my ear. I lose sight of it at that point, but trust that it is going exactly where it needs to be.
The magnetic lock on the door releases as the therapist enter the room to set up for position #2. I am not allowed to talk, since it could change my alignment on the table. I lay there quietly, listening to whatever tune might be playing over the speakers. This morning was Bruce Springsteen's "Born to run". I like that song. Brings me back to my high school days when fast cars were what I was all about, and the girlfriend whose heart I broke because of them.
One more "ding" and we are ready to start position #2. It is low and to my left. About the seven o'clock position, so I can't really see it. Position #2 take about half of the time as position #1.
The whole treatment takes about twenty minutes all together. I am probably one of a couple dozen patients that shuffle through there everyday. And, I'm just talking treatment #4. Yet, Ashley and the other therapists take the time to get to know us. We're not just numbers, but people that need help, encouragement, and understanding.
If I were young again, it would be something that I would be really interested in getting involved in. It doesn't have to be a proton center, every major hospital has an Oncology Department. At 59 years of age, is it too late? Maybe I will look into it. Then again, let's leave this with the young people.
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