delete. if only it was that easy to restart.
"Your body is a computer-you have to let it reboot-especially with all of the radiation." i'm so sick of hearing that. apparently there are many programs that still need to close. when i close one ("seizures" or "muscle atrophy" or "vertigo"), then another one opens. they keep popping up-new symptomes, new issues, new worries. a great deal of "harmful threats" to my system have not been blocked.
lately i have been having "visual disturbances"-my eyes will fade in and out and things start to move around a bit (kind of a milder version of the extreme vertigo I was having). some episodes are shorter than others. so it was time for an eye doctor appointment. i was looking forward to this one because i thought it would be an easy fix. they just do some eye tests and there's my answer, right?
nope. in the eye doctor's words, "There is nothing I can do to make all of these symptoms go away." he said that my eyes will adjust with time as they heal.
with time. with time. with time. it's always the same thing. i hate that stupid hourglass.
at night i'm happy that another day has gone by because that means i am closer to the "in time" everyone's talking about. but am i?
this weekend there's been a clicking in the back of my head and a tingling sensation on the right side of my skull. i'll have to call a doctor (maybe i'll put all of their names in a hat and pick a one) and let them know. but it probably will just get better with time. in this case, that would actually be a relief if it's something that will resolve itself and it's not something worse.
then there's this pressure under what feels like my entire face. when i blink my eyes i feel a pull on the top of my head. forget about raising my eyebrows-that has been a lost cause. but that will get better in time, right? and my headaches will disappear?
i always hope there's an easier explanation to new things that arise than there actually is. often there is no explanation. that makes it so much worse.
when will everything align? when will "time" come?
I eagerly await the day my arrow can finally click "ok".
Showing posts with label radiation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label radiation. Show all posts
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
insiders.
(This post was written 5/9/11)
Down the hallway and to the right of the general Radiation Medicine waiting room is the treatment waiting room: an eight-chaired meeting place of survivors. of people who know all too well the difference between rights and privileges.
This room holds a few regulars mixed in with some new faces, depending on schedules and how the machines are running that day.
With a sentiment somewhere between detention and prison lies the initial "what are you in for?" conversation and everyone is happy to share their story. There's no need to explain how difficult it was and continues to be; we all understand without words. No matter what stage or grade or location or level of aggression, we're all there for the same reason: long-term survival. We all go on machines that administer beams that kill fast-growing cells. Cells that need to be killed so they don't become cancerous. Some of us receive lower doses of radiation. Most of us have interesting hairdos.
When someone finishes radiation, a well-intended outsider might say, "congratulations! You're all done!" or, even WORSE, say, "think of it THIS way..." No. Not us. Those who sat together through 6 1/2 weeks of treatments will not offer cliches. We certainly won't downplay a serious situation that requires serious treatments.
(Side note: for outsiders who think "benign" means "okay" you are wrong. Even if it's not life-threatening, every tumor is serious-even more so with brain tumors.)
When we (the insiders) look at each other and say, "congratulations" for finishing a round of radiation we mean "I understand what you've gone through. You have a positive spirit, but your journey is far from over. Your smile does not deceive me; you look good on the outside, but I know that you are screaming inside. I'm happy you don't have to drive to the hospital every day, but this road is going to be very difficult and very, very frightening."
Everyone's eyes are filled with hope and desperation.
No matter what the case, everyone is wondering the same thing: what is going to happen to me?
Down the hallway and to the right of the general Radiation Medicine waiting room is the treatment waiting room: an eight-chaired meeting place of survivors. of people who know all too well the difference between rights and privileges.
This room holds a few regulars mixed in with some new faces, depending on schedules and how the machines are running that day.
With a sentiment somewhere between detention and prison lies the initial "what are you in for?" conversation and everyone is happy to share their story. There's no need to explain how difficult it was and continues to be; we all understand without words. No matter what stage or grade or location or level of aggression, we're all there for the same reason: long-term survival. We all go on machines that administer beams that kill fast-growing cells. Cells that need to be killed so they don't become cancerous. Some of us receive lower doses of radiation. Most of us have interesting hairdos.
When someone finishes radiation, a well-intended outsider might say, "congratulations! You're all done!" or, even WORSE, say, "think of it THIS way..." No. Not us. Those who sat together through 6 1/2 weeks of treatments will not offer cliches. We certainly won't downplay a serious situation that requires serious treatments.
(Side note: for outsiders who think "benign" means "okay" you are wrong. Even if it's not life-threatening, every tumor is serious-even more so with brain tumors.)
When we (the insiders) look at each other and say, "congratulations" for finishing a round of radiation we mean "I understand what you've gone through. You have a positive spirit, but your journey is far from over. Your smile does not deceive me; you look good on the outside, but I know that you are screaming inside. I'm happy you don't have to drive to the hospital every day, but this road is going to be very difficult and very, very frightening."
Everyone's eyes are filled with hope and desperation.
No matter what the case, everyone is wondering the same thing: what is going to happen to me?
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