Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Tidbits and Answers

April 5, 2011: This morning, Linds and I go to see Dr. Bradley for another post-op check-up. He looks at my wound and pronounces the good news that it is healing well. He tells me that in the "valley" where the skin is diving inward instead of lying flat, I'll need to clean that area with a Q-tip for a while. I admit that I am still leery of the whole tangle of incisions - that I have yet to see the "big picture". Maybe it's time. Maybe I need to drag out that hand-held mirror and get a really good view. Maybe. Even touching it makes me shudder.


He confirms the two appointments that were made with the different radiologists, and I tell him that I canceled one and kept the other (didn't tell him that I kept the one that was most convenient to ME). He says that's fine and that the reason he made the appointment with Dr. Sause was because Dr. S was in the room when the Tumor Board made their recommendations and looked over my file. (Isn't that a strange thought, that a group of strangers - educated doctors and specialists - actually looked at my little ol' tests and scans and lab work and biopsies and made a determination for treatment? I feel like nothing will ever be private again, that I am totally out there from now on.) But he assured me that Dr. A will also be able to give me the care I need as a next step. That is reassuring.


Then, he asks if I have any questions. Yes, I say, and I've come prepared - I've written them down in my trusty notebook. He says, good, let's hear them - and then he settles onto his stool to give me his undivided attention. (Will I ever be able to tell him how much this means to me?)


Me: When can I put Vitamin E or lotion or ointment on my wound so that it doesn't feel so tight? (I'm not counting the Bacitracin that I've used since the day after my surgery.)


Dr. B: Vitamin E has not really been proven to make any more of a difference than, say, Vaseline, in the healing of scars. I recommend a product called Aquaphor. You can slather (well, he didn't say slather, but that's what I want to do) on as much as you'd like. (I bought a jar at Wally's and I'm trying it tonight.)


Me: Am I now at a higher risk to develop more cancer cells when I'm out in the sun? Do I have to buy a hat to protect my scalp? Will I always have to wear long sleeves in the summer?


Dr. B: No, no, and no. If you had basal cell carcinoma or skin cancer, I would tell you to stay out of the sun. But melanoma isn't always caused by sun exposure. We find melanoma in children who haven't yet experienced sunburn and intense exposure to the sun, so it's not specifically related to the sun. You should wear sunscreen, but you don't have to wear a hat.


Me: Is the tightness in the muscles in the back of my head on the right side (and down into my back) related to the surgery?


Dr. B: Yes. Maybe you need to have some physical therapy. Let me write out a recommendation. (cha-ching, cha-ching)


Me: Are the little zings and surges I feel under my jaw nerves that are waking up?


Dr. B: Yes. They are healing and coming to life.


Me: (this was the biggie) What does radiation do? What will it do to me - and what is its purpose for me right now?


Dr. B: The goal of having radiation treatments is preventative. We want to keep the cancer in a localized area and zap it before it can grow or spread to other places. That's why you will get the treatments in your neck. The radiologist will determine the intensity of the radiation and the duration of the treatments. Sometimes they do big blasts for a short period of time and sometimes they do little spurts for a longer period of time. You can expect to have certain side effects, like skin irritations much like a sunburn, itchiness, flaking, drying up of salivary glands, drying up of wax in the ears, and a sore throat. Everything the radiation touches is affected. The treatments could go on for a couple of weeks or a couple of months. Four weeks after your last radiation treatment, you will come back to me and we'll evaluate. (Yay!)


My thoughts are whirring. Will my vocal cords by zapped, too? Will I feel like I'm being burned? What else will the radiation kill, besides the bad cells? I feel like a human guinea pig. But, on the other hand, I have to be thankful that there are options, even if it is shooting poisonous x-rays into my body. Kill away, if it will keep me alive.


On a positive note (tra-la-la), I decide to go to chorus rehearsal tonight for the first time in almost a month. I get all teary just driving up to the building. One friend says it best: "This is my two and a half hour respite from my crazy world - where I can forget everything else and just sing." That's just how I feel. I discover that I am not so far behind that I can't catch up, and the music stirs my soul. It is good to open my mouth and hear a melody come out. Will I be able to perform in a couple of weeks? That remains unclear. But, this is certain - if I can stand and walk and smile, even with a "sunburned" neck, I'll be there, singing my little heart out. Take that, Goliath. You can't beat me when there's a song to be sung.

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