Background and overview

I learnt more about the health system from being an inpatient than I had in 20 years of working as a neuropsychologist. I was unexpectedly diagnosed with two brain tumours on 4/9/13. They turned out to be grade IV Gliomas (glioblastoma multiforme (GBM)). After removal of the right parietal and left occipital tumours, I received the standard treatment under the Stupp protocol (combined Temozolamide (TMZ) and conformal radiotherapy 5 days/week for 6 weeks), but the TMZ had to be ceased after 5 weeks because I had started to develop pancytopenia, where more than one of my blood counts had begun to drop. By Christmas 2013, I had become anaemic and needed a couple of blood transfusions. I ended up in hospital for 3 weeks of the 2014 new year after experiencing my first seizure (suggestive of a right temporal lobe focus) on 31/12/13). They were so worried about my bone marrow, they did a biopsy. Luckily, it was all clear of any nasty disorders. It had just been suppressed by the TMZ My blood counts slowly returned to normal with daily injections of GCSF, which stimulate bone marrow function, for several months. For 17 months I was doing better each day, without any physical impairments or major cognitive problems A third brain tumour was found in the right temporal lobe on 2/1/15, and removed 6/1/15, only to reappear on 17/2/15 after I started to feel vague symptoms at the end of 2014. I had my 4th round of brain surgery on 1/3/15, followed by stereotaxic radio surgery of a residual, inoperable, tumour, on 17/4/15. I've been feeling like my old self again since that highly precise form of radiotherapy, and it feels fabulous.

My way of coping.
I choose to live in hope that everything will work out for the best. I've learnt that even though things are sometimes unpleasant, life and love go on forever. I put my faith in the life force that created and unites us all in love, across all time, space, and dimensions. I refuse to succumb to fear, which is an invention of our imaginations. There are an infinite number of things to fear, both in this world an in our imaginations, and most of them never eventuate. I choose not to dwell on them, and to focus instead on counting my many blessings, current and past, and to have faith and hope that if I look after the present moment, the future will look after itself.

If you're reading, and haven't been in touch, please don't be shy, send me a brief private message using the contact form on the right. It's nice to know who's out there. Blogging can leave me feeling a little isolated at times (I used to have recurrent dreams of being out on a limb over a canyon, or of starting to strip off in a crowded waiting room). Your emails are appreciated, although I can't necessarily answer all of them.


Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Radiation

Three down, 25 to go.

I started having radiotherapy (RT for short) on Monday. A nurse led me to the change rooms and gave me a cheerful yellow gown (covered with manic white flowers) and told me to remove my upper garments, put my things in a shopping basket, and wait on the chair to be called. She said I was to take the gown home with me, and to bring it back for each treatment, so I felt embarrassed that I left it there after yesterday's session. At least my new gown is more funky, in surgical green, and I can pretend that I'm going to work in some high-tech environment... Until they have me lying on the bench with my left arm out of the sleeve and the left side of my torso uncovered, and they start drawing marks over my five tattoos and lining my midline up with some green lights that divide me into quarters.

The RT is given in a large room which has an X-ray table in the middle. They have various supports for each patient. I get a comfy foam knee support, and a black board that is angled up at about 15 degrees from a foam thing that stops my bum from sliding down. It's been used by short people the last couple of days, because my back has been on the red foam neck support when I've sat down, and they've had to put it to 'H' position while I've been lying there, arm and scar exposed. I'm going to check the position before I lie down tomorrow, it would be nice to slide in and have it fit properly, rather than have people on each side fiddling with levers under my thighs as I lie there. 

My arms need to be above my head for the treatment. There's a T- shaped bar to hold onto, and arm supports next to my head. My chin needs to be lifted up as well, so that it doesn't get zapped. They use a cathode ray tube like in normal X-rays, and it emits gamma radiation in a beam that is customized to my body. In the old days they used to use lead to shape the radiation field, but now they have multiple metal 'fingers' that direct the radiation in the desired shape. Interestingly, they lay a strip of something that looks like mashed potato, wrapped up in plastic, over my scar. This has the effect of amplifying the radiation to the scar, as there's thought to be a risk that cancer cells could be spread to the scar during the original surgery.

It all takes 5-10 minutes. They have been doing one or two X-rays to check that the alignment is right, and I was told today they need to make sure they're not irradiating my spinal cord, so there will be a few more X-rays this week. I've lost count of how many I've had this year, must be at least 10 chest X-rays before RT started. 

At the end of the treatment, the cheery technicians come back in and move the bench back away from the machine that sits over my chest. There's a long blue strap at the end of the bench to pull myself up on. I was glad to use it today, after discovering yesterday that it's very hard to put my arm back in the gown while lying down, and that it's much easier to sit up with the use of the strap than without it.

I was given two tubs of Sorbolene by one of the nurses after my first treatment, with instructions to use it twice a day. It sounds like I might start to get some itching by the end of the second week, and that some people get blisters, a bit like sunburn, after the third week. I'm to tell them if it happens, so they can give me appropriate dressings and creams. I'm being diligent with the Sorbolene, in the hope that it will protect me from too much skin irritation. 

So that's RT - I think I'll have the measurements memorized soon. H for the bum-rest, 3 for the handles, 92, 84, and some other numbers that they recite as they line me up under the machine. It's very weird, but not unpleasant, and I'm feeling better each day since chemo stopped. 

I walked around the block today, and didn't need to stop when coming up the stairs. (yipee!). My calves, quads, biceps, and forearms are still aching throughout the day and night  and I still feel drained, but I'm getting used to it and am determined to get as fit as I can (even if it's achieved at a snail's pace). One day at a time...it helps so much to have the support of wonderful family, friends, and colleagues. Thank you all. Xx