Part 31 The light at the end of the tunnel


The new week comes with a brightness despite the rain. I am now down to my last week of treatments. But Dr. N- now claims I need a total of 39 radiation sessions! It seems that because of my fair skin they have been administering less intense rays for my protection, so I will need more zaps. I am devastated, since I was going to ask her if we could wrap all this up at the end of the week with number 33 (only two short of the intended 35, and after all, why come back next week for a mere pair of treatments?). She will hear none of this (she actually looks shocked that I suggest such an outrageous thing). I reel after this and struggle to maintain my balance like a punch drunk boxer leaning against the ropes.

At home, Bree sits in the kitchen and reads us books she wrote and illustrated, and her creativity makes me feel almost alive. The kids just carry on, as all of this madness ensues, either out of innocence or bravery, they just keep on going…

The sun warms the next few days as I break the 30 barrier in treatments. The steroid injections are probably lifting my mood along with the weather. I play music by the Dave Clark Five to and from the center, and I am positive now that I am reaching back to my childhood to help me get through this. Looking in the mirror, I find that my neck seems to be healing some (like when a bad sunburn eventually turns into a tan). The new phenergan patch that I place on me at night keeps me in and out of sleep until two a.m., with minor hallucinations as an added bonus (?).

A beautiful Friday dumps pollen all over my car, and I am excited that Spring is finally arriving. In the past, I enjoyed the cold weather and was not in a hurry to see it go. But not anymore. I drive over for treatment number 33, which I had hoped could have been my last. Dr. Bu- can’t decide between Egypt and Destin for his Spring break vacation. He is leaning toward Egypt, but hasn’t booked the trip yet (although it is next week!).

I awake Saturday morning, again with very little sleep from the night and with a salty, dry mouth, but it is a brisk, clear morning, and I go outside to wash the pollen off my car while Becah plants flowers. The children are off to Beaumont with CC. I weed and feed and water the yard, then rest by torturing myself watching FIT TV food shows. At night Becah goes out to dinner with a friend and I listen to the Moody Blues “Seventh Sojourn” CD while James Cagney (in “White Heat) acts up on TV. I sleep in the next day (gaining an extra hour from daylight saving’s time). My parents come over in the afternoon to plant a tomato garden, and late in the day the kids return. I close out the weekend by watching an old James Darren beach movie called “For Those Who Think Young”, feeling almost euphoric from my newly administered patch.

At Kingwood the next morning I see Dr. N- , who checks with me periodically to see if I am surviving her onslaught. I ask her questions about diet, wondering if poor choices in the past hurt me or if I could improve my chances with a better future diet. She, like most physicians I have encountered, downplays the importance of diet, but when asked about the nature of the virus which she thinks was responsible for my condition, she is unable to shed much light. I am learning that when I talk to doctors I often leave as I came – with a pocketful of unanswered questions. Doctors may be intelligent and well trained, but the origins of this disease are quite complex, as are the individuals to whom it strikes. The mystery remains. When leaving the building, I am blindsided by a wave of nausea, and we have to stop the car for me to be sick. At home, I suffer another attack.