The Cancer File

The Cancer Diary-Interim Report

Ninth of fourteen columns

This is the middle of the eighth inning.

So far, no complaints.

Half of the treatments are behind me and I’m in a position to pass on more information about what happens within Frankenstein’s radiation chamber, and – more importantly to some -- what goes on inside the body of one who receives seven beams of radiation per day, released from seven different angles (while, disturbingly, those who supervise the treatment run for cover before the bombardment begins).

Something powerful is going on in that room and taking the radiation barrage without protest is an act of will that is made possible by the trust one develops in the system -- the doctors and the therapists who operate it – and by respect for the disease within me.

The trust is well placed.

I’ve previously explained the use of the ID card that is issued to each patient. Inserting it into a slot located in the control room brings the patient’s picture and personal information to the computer screen. At that point, the patient usually retires to Frankenstein’s chamber for treatment.

But if one lingers for a few seconds the next critical aspect of the check-in procedure becomes visible to the alert, inquisitive patient.

The ID card also activates the patient’s computer file, and the flick of a key by the therapist brings to the screen a picture of the area to be treated, angles of treatment and the required position of the body when treatments are delivered.

At that point, the computer and the radiation machine are in contact and the only missing ingredient is the patient’s body in its prescribed position.

The blocking session that precedes actual treatments was reviewed in an earlier column. When the patient leaves it, he carries tattoos on his hips and on his belly.

During the setup for actual treatments, laser beams on each side of the room are activated and the patient’s body is shifted on the table until the lasers line up with the tattoo marks on the hips -- the overhead eye does the same job with the tattoo on the belly.

When everything is in alignment, the body is theoretically in the position that the computer program demands.

Then therapists go to the control room and activate the machine. And here’s the kicker – if the body isn’t lined up properly, the radiation machine will not operate.

Now that’s a system that breeds confidence in the people who designed it, and those who supervise and operate it.

Side effects?

The disposal systems of my body continue to operate satisfactorily; there has been no marked change in my sleeping habits.

Appetite?

I’ll carry a sandwich to the grave -- I have not changed my diet, but I play with it here and there if I sense an onslaught of side effects.

I work every day on different writing projects; I sense that my energy has dropped off a bit.

The hormone injection gives me occasional hot flashes.

But overall?

No complaints.

The eighth inning will end in late July. At that time I’ll summarize the 40 treatments and give the particulars of what I’ll face in the last inning of this game that, sometimes, appears to have no end.