Rolling with the Punches

First and foremost I have to put some BIG thank yous out there for some much appreciated help in getting me to radiation treatments yesterday. The schedule was fluid and late-breaking and tough to keep up with and arrange.

A big thank you to my Mom for waking up way too early and driving over to Marietta in the bitter cold to pick Barb and I up and get us to the health center.

Also a big thank you to Alyssa for getting Barb to the grocery store yesterday afternoon after my radiation treatments.

We love you both.

I had to be at the offices of radiation oncology at 7:30 a.m. for my Gamma Knife treatment. With me was my crack support team of my wife and my mom.

We were all called back to an individual waiting room until I was called to the "frame room."

I am seated on something that resembles a dentist chair without the lounge feature. First I'm given a sedative, underneath the tongue. "Let it dissolve," I'm told. "Don't just swallow it."

Then an IV is hooked up to my right forearm and a little saline is injected through. Soon some "la la juice" is injected into me. This is third Gamma Knife treatment so I have experience. I'm relaxed, with or without the medication.

Two doctors enter, the neurosurgeon and the radiation oncologist, and with the help of the nurse start positioning a metal frame onto my head. They debate positioning, pick out there spots, and then start injecting my skull in four places with numbing stuff (I think that's the technical term).

In seconds I cannot feel my head. Quickly they begin to screw the frame to my skull, right through the skin, straight to the bone. They carefully tighten each screw and ensure that the frame is completely still without any chance of movement.

Every time they've told me, "You're doing really well." I bet they say that to everyone. (smile)

I was helped into a wheel chair, because walking with a numb head with a metal frame attached can prove quite challening. I was quickly whisked into an MRI room where the techs positioned me on the table for a quick scan.

"Luke, I am your father," I joked from the MRI bed.

Everyone laughed.

I thought to myself, "I should stop joking around and let them concentrate."

The MRI scans were quickly completed and the docs gathered to study them and set-up the treatment. I was told that they found four small tumors in all, one more than the latest report. All were under two millimeters in size - very tiny.

When the treatment plan was set I was escorted into the Gamma Knife room. The Gamma Knife is a huge empty room surrounded by thick radiation proof walls and doors. Think about science fiction type stuff and you're on the right track.

Once on the Gamma Knife table I'm fitted with another metal frame and a metal globe with pin holes all throughout it. The frames are locked into place into brackets on the treatment table. All measurements are checked and the doctors and staff come to agreement that everything is ready.

The treatment table slowly pulls me into the giant machine, head first. The table suddenly moves very slowly and I feel my metal frame lock into another piece of metal with a metallic "clang."

Then . . . complete silence . . . I mean not a sound at all for 20 minutes. That's the treatment, silent, invisible, radiation being aimed in hundreds of tiny beams around the tumor without harming surrounding healthy tissue.

There were two 20 minute treatments, one 18 minutes, and one 13 minutes, and then I was done.

I got up, regained my balance, and the neurosurgeon patted me on the shoulder and said, "Gotta' go. I'll see you in four-weeks and we'll do an MRI in eight."

A nurse quickly moved me back to the "frame room," settled me in the "dentist chair" and begun to unscrew the frame from my head. She worked to stop the bleeding from two of the screw holes. I felt my head. Wow it was numb. I couldn't feel a thing.

That was it, another Gamma Knife treatment.

It was a whirlwind. Originally this treatment was scheduled for the 18th of this month. We got a call late Monday that they'd like to do it this Wednesday (yesterday) instead. Fortunately my Mom was kind enough to instantly agree to the late-hour request and be my driver for the day. They get me so drugged up it's not the best idea for me to drive myself.

Then mid-morning Tuesday they called and informed me that I had to drop everything and have bloodwork done. We were just about out the door and on our way to the grocery store when this call came in. Fortunately Alyssa was kind enough to instantly agree to join her Mom for an afternoon grocery run while I slept off the medications, the radiation, and the four new holes in my head.

Feeling sore, but pretty good this morning. I'll take it light, but am sure I'll be ready for action almost immediately. Plus I have Barb's English muffins and forbidden chocolate doughnuts to keep me inspired.

We were just about on our way to the grocery store and butcher when the bloodwork request came in. So