The Boost

I finished up my "regular" treatments on Thursday, and moved on to the boost treatments yesterday. I would be lying if I said that the first boost was a breeze. After all the poking and prodding I've experienced over the past few months, you'd think that a little additional poking and prodding wouldn't bother me at all. But it did.

The "boost" treatments consist of eight treatments targeted to the area in my breast from which the cancer was removed. The amount of radiation is lower, and the penetration not as deep, but I guess that the idea is just to really cover our bases and make sure that no leftover cancer cells survive. Let me tell you, my breast feels a bit like it's had the heck beaten out of it. Looks like it, too. If there's any cancer left in there, I'd be pretty darned surprised.

The boost treatments are delivered by the same machine that delivered the regular treatments, but they use an attachment that comes down very close to my breast. During the first treatment, the doc had to come in to make sure that the treatment field was covering just the right area on my breast (which entailed him pushing, poking and prodding my breast to make sure that the area covered included all of the area he wanted in the boost field), and the techs, once again, had an opportunity to create art on my chest with sharpies, this time drawing a large circle around the area to be treated. Feeling a bit like a science experiment (or a piece of canvas) over here. Just sayin.

The treatment didn't hurt at all, but it was disconcerting because I didn't know how long the blast would last. I'm always afraid that the machine will malfunction and give me way too much radiation, and because I didn't know yesterday how long the treatment was supposed to last, I was especially concerned about that. There's always the fear, too, in the back of the mind that something will hurt, and that I'll have to figure out how to get up off of the table during the middle of the treatment. Yesterday, all of these paranoid thoughts came crashing in around me, and I literally was shaking during the treatment. I surprised even myself with my level of wimpiness yesterday. Now that I know what to expect, however, I'm guessing that I'll sail through the last seven treatments.

Still wondering what a celebration of the end of this nonsense should look like. It will be a Tuesday night -- not exactly the best night of the week to have a big blowout. Maybe a quiet dinner somewhere with Eli; certainly several glasses of wine to mark the occasion; maybe a big, yummy steak. We'll see.

Have a great weekend.

Erin