Desultory Diary, Nr. 42: Cancer Journal, Continued.

 Yesterday was a very difficult day. It was the first day of 28 sessions of radiation to get rid of the cancer that intends to keep extending its tentacles. I was prepared for that, but not what greeted me when I got out of bed and came downstairs. It was raining cats and dogs--indoors! Water was drippping rather  rapidly from the ceiling. Dowsnstairs, in the basement, the cats and dogs turned out to be coming down like lions and danes. We had a plumber come who assesssed the damage, told us that walls had to come down and anxiety had to go up. In other words, they didn't know the source of the leak.

We notified the insurance company. I told them that it would be all right to come in the morning before noon, since after that I had to make my way to the hospital. Two Hispanics came at about one. I mention their origin since I had a long conversation with them in their native language. One said that my Spanish was excellent, but telling the truth on the job is almost an oxymoron. 

They found a lot of wet--no more rain, since the water had been shut off. I told them I had to go for treatment; they instaled two heavy-duty dehumidifiers and left, to return tomorrow. We need to get a plumber as well.

I was unprepared for the first day of treatment. One's bladder needs to be at leat 75% full, so that it presses on the prostate to prevent movement. (One's bowels need to be fairly empty; there mustn't be excess gas as well. With those criteria, however, I had no problem.)

My bladder was only 40% full. So I had to drink and drink and wait and wait. Finally they were able to proceed. 

What I am receiving is called Intensity-modulated radiation therapy (IMRT), a very precise method to zap the prostate and, one hopes, destroy all cancer cells within it. After I received a simulation session including an MRI, the data were converted by a team of physicists into a blueprint for my treatment. This took about three weeks. For the first session, I had to lie on my back. The nuclear accelerator contained various apparatuses that rotated around me. I felt a bit like Gallileo's sun--how is that for an exaggeation--and said to myself, Eppur si muove. These are the apocryphal words that Gallileo muttered under his breath when founrd guilty by the Inquisition for daring to assert that it is the Earth that revolves around the sun and not the other way around. The Italian can be roughly translated as "Neverthesless it (the Earth) moves." 

Now we know that the sun moves as well, hurtling through space along with the Earth, I neverthesless had to keep still as I could. The revolving plates reminded me also of the great Zeiss projector at the Planetarium of the Museum of Natural History in New York. As the latter moved, patterns of stars were projected onto the sky-like dome of the planetarium. With the accelerator, however, the rays of the death stars, as it were, were projected inside my body, may the Force be with them.

After the treatment, by the way, my prostate didn't glow like Rudolph's nose. I am not radiactive. I feel fine, although side effects--yuk! are expected as the damage accumulates.

Every Friday, I meet with the doctor in charge of my treatment. I do indeed still have a lot of questions.

The miracles of modern science are truly astounding. I am very grateful to live in an age and in a community where such sophisticated treatment is available. (My treatment takes place at the Johns Hopkins cancer center.) And thank God for Medicare; without health insurance I would be lost among the indifferent stars. 

The awe I felt as I lay under this triumph of biomedical engineering made me forget about such horrors as the war in Ukraine--at least for a while.

I am to receive 28 sessions of IMRT therapy, that is, every weekday for about six weeks. Cancer take that! I hope each of your unhinged cells, each a little death star, will soon explode into oblivion, giving me some more precious time to live before my body goes up in smoke as well.