The Home Stretch

So, how's your day? Mine? Mine's been good, real good. Why you ask? Well, I am on the tail end of my radiation treatment and I'm feeling more and more like Trevor than I have in a seemingly long time. That's right folks, after having my not so family friendly dose of radiation last Friday I am feeling much better now that I can retake my Synthroid hormone pills and am allowed to come out of my room. The whole process was fairly surreal or rather esoteric (no no no, I'm not studying for the GRE. I'm just pretentious). All the stories that I've read of individuals like me with my diagnosis speak of the radiation process involving led lined hospital rooms with doctors in full hazmat suits and led lined pill boxes with nurses giving orders via a two way intercom. My story was a wee bit different. 

After being the first to show at a doctors office and later joined by the opening nurse I wandered around a darkened building thinking to myself "Hey this is pretty neat, it's like backstage passes" but then realizing "Oh wait, they made me come through the back door and the whole place is empty because I'm about to be radioactive in it!" My nurse Keon directed me to a paper work laden room where I signed and waited about 40 minutes for the sounds of the doctors inevitable footsteps. Easy to distinguish when they're the only ones in the whole joint. When he entered and we dispensed the usual pleasantries (again, pretentious) he answered all my questions of the process and of my quarantine before he asked me, "well, you ready?" To which I responded with labored breath in anticipation, "let's do this." 

Doctor: "Well, it's all going to be a bit anti-climactic from here, follow me." 

Me: "OK." 

Doctor: "We're going to go over to this room (read: closet) and I'm going to hand you this." 

For my readers at home who are undoubtedly expecting a horse pill that looked like it was melting from the inside or a giant led thermos that once the door was closed behind me I would unscrew the cap only to then ingest the contents where no one could see me cry, let me stop you there. Being transfered from the Doctor to myself was not the above but rather... a small dixie cup with two capsules. Like I was any patient in any hospital ward getting my daily dose of [fill in the blank]. We exchanged glances as he shook a bottle of water at me and smiled. 

Me: "Cheers."

"Apparently," he said, "it's a common occurrence for some crazy people to take the pills and shove them in the corner of there mouths only to spit them on the ground after they leave. So, I'm going to 'check' to make sure  you swallowed them." By this he ment that he would take a geiger counter and wave it over my body, head to stomach. You know, the ones that we saw on tv during the whole Japanese meltdown gig. That one. As I watched the meter register from 0 to, well lets just be honest, the fact that it registered anything but 0 while over my body gives credence to my previous nomer of surreal. As soon as he waved over my stomach the counter went off the scale and he smiled and said "well done. There it is."And I was radioactive. 

With a gulp of water and a screw of a cap I was escorted out of the office. I went to shake the doctor's hand and he looked at it with a smile and said, "well, I guess there's no radiation there yet." He then shook my hand, grabbed the back door and threw it open as I escaped into morning traffic. 

The next, or rather last, 4 days have been a dance of trying to stay away from family and friends while still receiving 3 meals a day (I can eat real food again! Wahoo!). The keyword of this time has been water. I've practically drunk my weight in water trying to flush the radiation out of my system. But, the good news is that it's all done. My sequesterization (sp?) is over and I'm once again a free man. I can feel the meds starting to take their effect once more and should be back to normal soon. The only thing left to do now is to have my full body scan... tomorrow. 

After a typical clear liquids diet and a Nuclear Medicine Scan at 9:00am tomorrow, Sept 7th, I will officially be done with my cancer treatment! Praise the Lord from whom all Blessings Flow!! Again, the prayer here is that I will receive a "scan with no surprises." Lord willing I will receive a call from the doctor's office with those words sometime by the end of work Friday. If I get a call saying otherwise, well, we'll petition the Lord for that if it comes. 

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far. We're almost there. It really is the home stretch. 

Eve

This is going to be a slightly different post than my usual. That is my usual if i had posted in the last month.

I've been mulling over the writing of an update for this blog for some time now. I even prepared a full entry about a week ago yet didn't post it. Why? I would ask myself. At first I thought that I didn't want to be a bother to peoples and keep back in private that which everyone asked for. A funny thing sickness. In high school I would have killed for this kind of attention. Everyone always interested in "what's new with you" or asking "how ya doin?'". They even actually want the answer! It's amazing. However, as I slowly began to reveal to family then friends of my diagnosis I quickly learned how much a normal conversation is worth. The ability to shoot the breeze without having to read into the clouds for a favorable outcome. A Facebook message about a new concert and not a new success story. Normalcy. However, as I pondered my reluctance on posting I think I'm stumbling onto a hounded idea that I've beaten many a horse in using, community. It's been truly amazing to see the depths of peoples giving in both prayer and speech. People I haven't talked to in years calling me up with encouragement learned from a relative or themselves. Having a friend hunt down an old bed frame that's lost amidst a dorm attic just so I can rest easy. I even had a complete stranger hunt down the head of a major pharmaceuticals company just on the off chance that they could impact the course of my treatment... It's astounding. I've often been a cynique of distanced relationships yet I have found myself humbled. I thank you, friend, for your love of my life. It shall not be easily forgotten. 

...

Eve. Today is the eve of the end as I have come to call it. I first noticed a growth in my neck when I was 19, five years later I find myself on a Thursday night having removed everything from my room that I can't throw away or live without in anticipation the day. You know, every eve has a day. The culmination of our anticipation. A breaking point when you finally know that you've arrived. For some right now it's school or, for a certain group of friends of mine, a fantasy football draft. For me, it's an ingested dose of Radioactive Iodine that will kill off any malignant Thyroid cells in my body. What's at risk? This time it's just my salivary glands and my taste buds. Those and a particularly bad Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck painting a rainbow comforter. It was the only one that my parents felt okay to douse in radiation and toss. Who knew? Luckily I've reacted fairly well to the lack of my Synthroid (For a full explanation of what this means, look below for hypothyroidism). My energy is adequate and my temper... well, my parents and girlfriend love me so it helps. This whole iodine free diet that they had me go one so that my body will absorb the radioactive Iodine tomorrow isn't that bad. Actually, it's kinda great! Did you know that you could make your own tortilla chips by cutting and frying in a little oil filled pan some flour tortillas and then sprinkling with salt? Lord bless the Hispanic nation! Up to bat is my RAI (radioactive Iodine) that will put me at least 6 feet away from anyone for 5 days, 7 if you're prego/growing. Though my full body scan is wednesday the 7th, D day is either Thursday or Friday when I'll get my results. If you pray, hell even if you don't, pray for a clear scan. A clear scan means the cancer has not spread to my bones and my lungs. A clear scan means I can start my life, take my MCAT, apply to med school, chase a girl. Life. An unclear scan would mean less, much less. Friends I love you and I need your love. Please petition on my behalf for the radiation to do its work. Medicine is a remarkable tool, for man and for God. Clear scan. Ojala que. 

Stay tuned...