Tolerable and Temporary

Hello friends and family!

I am now 6 treatments away from completing my radiation therapy! Yeah!! The skin under my arm is black with blisters and I am very red all over my left chest. I am uncomfortable but as I told my doctor today it is all "tolerable and temporary."

When I go to radiation I see the same people. There is Virginia and Herbert who told me about "cookie day" and another breast cancer patient named Connie. We always chat and I enjoy seeing them and the same technicians every day.

Laura has taken to carrying a blanket with her into the hospital. Coats in her view are overrated. Today she and Leslie walked around with it over their heads. Leslie paraded behind Laura her body totally covered except for her feet. It looked like they were part of a huge animal costume. They turned a lot of heads but the onlookers always smiled. Anytime I go to my treatment and they aren't with me strangers come up and ask me where they are at and how they are doing. Guess we must turn a lot of heads (and make a lot of smiles I hope).

Today I met someone new. His name was Will and he has lung cancer. He looked to be in his 80's. He had just finished his radiation treatment and was lying on a stretcher waiting for someone to take him up to his hospital room. He said he'd been married 60 years to the same woman. He joked about how he'd put up with her for all that time (and how his lucky wife hadn't put up with anything). I thought it was very sweet when he said he didn't know what he'd do without his wife or she without him. He asked my name and I told him. He said he'd known another Kerry when he was young in World War II. He said that other Kerry had died on a Pacific island fighting the Japanese all those years ago. That was sobering to me. It made me wonder what all he'd seen in his life. He also told me he was about to start chemo. I told him he would love the nurses in the chemo hut. I said you get to eat ice cream, hang out in a recliner, take a nap and watch TV. He said he couldn't wait to get started.

Just like Virginia, Connie & Herbert he never once lost his humor or his smile. I really admire the spirit of the people I see at radiation every day. They don't complain even when you can tell they are hurting. They just smile and keep going.

Today I also saw a Physical Therapist. I went for an educational session about how to avoid getting lymphadema which is a backing up of the lymphatic fluid in the arm (and therefore a swelling of the arm itself). Because I have had my lymph nodes removed I am at higher risk for it, although the risk is about 25%. The therapist showed me pictures of people who'd had it, some in their legs as well as arms. (It all depends on where your lymph nodes have been removed). I was shocked by the severity of the swelling. Apparently all sorts of things can set it off: heat, mosquito bites, injury to my left arm, a cut, a change in pressure. I have been told now to avoid saunas and shaving with a regular razor under my arm among other things. I cannot have my blood pressure or skin pricked on my left side. I was told to buy a special sleeve if I ever go flying in an airplane or in case the lymphadema ever starts.

One of the things the other radiation patients, the technicians and I often joke about are the floppy hospital gowns we have to wear. Those immodest little things have become a part of my radiation routine. It has fondly brought to my mind a poem called "The Hospital Gown" written by my grandmother Mamma B. It was found after her death in a niche by her easy chair. She passed away from breast cancer in 1989 when I was 18. I think it captures the indignity but necessity (the tolerable and the temporary) of that aspect of the journey. And when you think about it, if Jesus is in your heart and you're going to heaven, it helps everything seems a little more tolerable and temporary.

The Hospital Gown
By Bertha Hutchison Booth

Provided with a smile, I wore it with a frown.
Tied in back like a bib, split all the way down;
So skinny and short,it won't go around
That horrible, hazardous hospital gown.

No buttons to button- no zippers to zip-
Tall, short, fat, thin- all it must fit.
Not even a pocket for hankie or pen,
I hereby declare it a crime against men.
That horrible, humiliating hospital gown.

Now Doc says I'm better- I walk down the hall.
Wearing pajamas and robe- pants, pockets and all.
I'll soon be dismissed and, when out on the town,
I'll praise those who provided with expert renown,
That horrible humanizing hospital gown.

Hope whatever you are putting up with is tolerable and temporary too. Lots of love,