Just the Facts

I learned very clearly three distinct facts this week.
1. Teaching algebra, teaching fractions, and chemo do not mix.
2. Radiation techs do not take tattoo requests or moonlight doing flames on shoulders.
3. Emotional reactions to cancer treatment can be almost as difficult to deal with as physical reactions.
I will explain:

First, as I "came to" from my chemo in the last week or so I started focusing on what the boys were doing in school and trying to evaluate their progress. In Math this year, Andrew is doing algebra and Ben is doing fractions. I thought they were doing OK. They were missing a few problems, but on the whole I felt they were moving forward. Big mistake. Last week I noticed there were a few things that they were just plain missing or doing totally wrong. I spent the remainder of last week and all of this week hammering them with review and going over mistakes to fix the errors that I had just not noticed when I was doing chemo.

I have now realized that I was much, much worse during the chemo than I recognized at the time. I can clearly see how my hand writing deteriorated over time and several other issues (like the math) have occurred to me. I also think that I had no business driving during that time. Whew, scary. God's protection was strong over us during that time.

Fact number two, radiation techs don't take requests or moonlight doing flaming tattoos. BTW, they do not they think it is very funny when you suggest this either. Tuesday, I went for my radiation "simulation". Basically, this involved me lying on a table with my arms over my head and my chest exposed while a doctor and a tech moved me around, drew on me with sharpies, took pictures, placed permanent markers (AKA tattoos) on my skin, and then gave me a CT scan. It didn't take very long but it sure was strange. The strangest part was, as we were leaving, the doctor instructed me to try to "wash around" the giant three inch by three inch sharpie targets that were drawn on each of my sides and in the middle of my chest. They also incorrectly told me the tattoo would stop hurting quickly. The doctor said they would call next week to set the appointment and I would start radiation next week too.

Despite the fact that the doc and the tech were very nice and caring, I left there kind of put out. I was all marked up, the tattoos hurt, and I was irritated to have to wait longer to set up my next appointment. And, of course, I felt like a cancer patient again with a new phase of treatment looming in front of me. I went home, ate my dinner generously provided for me by a friend, then jumped into the shower to get ready to go for Tuesday night. When I stepped out of the shower and saw my impossibly short hair, the trifecta of scars across my chest, and the giant targets now circling my body, I lost it. (Fact number three, emotions are hard to deal with.) I saw down in my closet and cried. A lot. I looked at the clock and realized I had fifteen minutes until it was time to leave, so I sort of, not very well pulled myself together and headed out the door.

By Wednesday, upset had changed to pure anger. I was mad that I had to do this again, mad at them for marking me up, and mad at because I was inconvenienced. A lot of good that did me. I have started getting dressed in the closet so that I don't have to see the marks in the mirror. The tattoos stopped hurting after two days. And, when I think about it rationally, I am glad that the process takes a few days because it is a very scientific calculation about where to aim the radiation beams and I sincerely don't want them to make a mistake and radiate my heart or lungs. So I am just sitting and waiting and letting the sharpie wear off...

Mom, at my request, has come back to help out this week. I called her on Saturday waving the white flag and asking for help. She didn't hesitate and is here cheerfully doing all of the things around the house that usually produce grumbling from the rest of us. (Do you like to clean toilets and vacuum behind the bed??) This leaves me free to spend the day completely focused on school with the boys and then take blissful two hour naps while the laundry magically flies back into my drawers. I am trying to be really, really patient and gentile with myself in order to heal, but of course I want to be better NOW!

"We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name."Psalm 33:20-21