Phase Two

Today is Friday, and the end of week five.  Twenty five treatments down, with ten left to go.  

I don't want to sugar coat this any more than I've wanted the doctors to, through this process.  It's tough.  We can't ask our bodies to be OK with launching trillions of radioactive protons into us, any more than we can ask it to be OK with a splinter in our finger.  We each have an amazing immune system that constantly watches for unwanted invaders.  When it senses something that shouldn't be there, it goes into all out attack mode to get rid of it.

Most of the time, it does an amazing job of fighting off what ails us.  Other times, some are not so lucky.  The immune system is not strong enough to do the job.

At first, it seemed a little silly, the attention that each team member paid to me.  The nurses knew the effects and the questions to ask.  The doctors were keenly aware of the side effects of each individual patient's treatment plan.  They designed it in a specific way, knowing that the way justified the means.  For me, there would be burns on my tongue and throat.  There was no other way to get the treatment where it needed to be.  They planned for it, and they planned for me to deal with it.

I've teased Janine, my nutritionist about being so strong when it comes to my food intake, and about keeping my weight steady during this process.  She probably has the most important job of all.  Her entire focus is on keeping my immune system strong so that I can handle what the treatment plan throws at me.  I gotta tell you, if it wasn't for her and her constant reinforcement of at least 25 grams of protein three times a day (the more the merrier), with complex carbs, and vegetables for vitamins, I could be in worse shape.  I meet with her every Friday, and she still calls me two other times during the week, to make sure that I am on the right track - that I'm not slipping - that I am doing what I need to do.

It's crazy to think that, with all of the patients that shuffle through this place, they pay so much attention to each one of us.  It is an absolute blessing that, all things considered, I was able to come here.

I met with Dr. Akthar this morning.  We have this common technologically geeky relationship, when it comes to looking at scans, and treatment plans, in vivid color.  He didn't hesitate to pull up the computer plan and show me what is next.

As it turns out, the first five weeks were more of a broader spread, focused on targeting the two main tumors - below my left eye and behind my left ear.  The intent was to stop any spread that may still be going on since the last MRI.  The next two weeks are targeted at very specific tumors along my nerve roots.  There is still the one under my left eye that is effecting the infraorbital nerve, but this focus will be on the tumor that is tracking along my Maxillary nerve - which is classified as a "base of skull tumor".  This is the one that started the whole process of me coming to Chicago Proton Center in the first place.

It is only separated from the bottom edge of my brain, by some very thin tissue, and about 1/8 of an inch of bone - the base of the skull.  Gamma ray radiation, that is used in most cancer treatment centers, has a predictable collateral damage path.  When used for most cancers, the damage is to soft tissue and bone, that will repair themselves in a matter of weeks.  Using Gamma ray on this particular tumor would have resulted in damaging this portion of my brain, most likely resulting in seizures, and other neurological deficits.  

Dr. Akthar is very excited to move to this next faze. There is a lot going on.  There is the infraorbital nerve, and maxillary nerve, but there is also the sixth cranial nerve that is causing my left eye to go crossed.  There is the seventh cranial nerve that has the left side of my face paralyzed, along with half of my tongue.  All of these areas are targeted in the next ten treatments.  

One of the bright spots is that, with the more targeted areas of treatment, my tongue and throat should have a chance to heal!  That would be awesome.  Being able to eat without pain would be great.  Even if it tastes like wet cardboard.  I'm feeling Chick-Fil-A!

This is the toughest thing that I have ever done in my life.  At some point, when the cancer is gone, and the radiation has stopped, and perhaps, the chemotherapy is over, my immune system will be able to take charge and get me back to what I will call normal.  What that will be, is yet to be known.  

Until then, I will wake up every morning with a smile on my face, looking forward to what's next.  Have a great weekend.