Today is the 8th radiation treatment. I’d like to announce, “So far so good!” but I’m afraid to jinx it.
Here I am trying to take a selfie in the mirror of the radiation department’s dressing room. Such a pretty outfit!
Here’s my hero in the radiation waiting room. He has driven me every day this week.
We’ve made it fun. Monday we stopped at Cracker Barrel on the way home and pretended it was the Cracker Barrel restaurant in Billings, Montana and we were on a road trip.
Banjo Man was especially happy with the open-faced roast beef sandwich dinner.
On Tuesday we did a little genealogy sleuthing, which I’ll write about tomorrow. We took the back streets from Providence to Cranston (only got lost twice) and ended up at “The Big Cheese & Pub”, which I’d seen online.
Did Banjo Man like his Italian meatballs and sausage lunch? Take a wild guess.
I ordered a meatball calzone, which was the biggest calzone I’d ever seen in my life. I managed to eat 1/4 of it and we took the rest home to freeze for future meals. Banjo Man cannot wait to go back there next week…and every week for the rest of his life.
Wednesday I was too tired to stop for lunch, so we headed home after a quick stop at Trader Joe’s and little hot fudge sundaes at McDonald’s. It is painful to hold my right arm over my head for the radiation treatments so when I feel really sorry for myself (and, I admit, a little teary) during those times I try to think of pleasant things. Wednesday’s “happy thought” was hot fudge sundaes. They were another road trip snack, around 3 pm, so Banjo Man and I could rally for two or three more hours of driving.
My “happy thought” during yesterday’s treatment had been a particularly embarrassing moment for me at the airport parking exit after picking up Ben, Amber and John in June. It struck me funny all over again to the point where I had to bite back the giggles while the machine was hovering and beeping and zapping my chest.
Yesterday we stopped at the Rose Point Cafe, near Wickford, for lunch.
Poor Banjo Man thought the sign said “marinated beef“. But he enjoyed the sandwich anyway. I ordered it, too (I love beets) and took 1/2 home. My appetite (and my energy levels) are dropping daily.
The doctor told me I was to do nothing but rest from now on. There will be 20 treatments, not 22, so I’ll be done on August 28th, which is also the day I meet with the oncologist to start the next phase: endocrine therapy for five years. That’s the “good stuff”, folks, that should keep the cancer from returning.
According to the Oncotype statistics, because of my low score, radiation and a future with endocrine therapy, I have a 98.2% chance of surviving nine years. Let’s give a cheer for medical science!!!