Women in Comfortable Shoes

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05/23/2004: "FryDay"

Mel and I were at the Gamma Knife Center in San Antonio at the crack of dawn Friday morning.

The nurse immediately put me on a gurney and started to work. After sticking me twice in vein, she and the IV therapist finally found a good one and started an IV of fluids. The IV would be used first to give me a sedative and later to deliver contrast material for the MRI. The sedative would relax me, maybe even put me to sleep. In fact, I probably wouldn't remember a thing, the nurse said.

Then they kicked Mel out for the remainder of the time. Radioactive materials and untrained civilians just don't go well together, I suppose.

The doctor came over and started fitting my head into the frame (fuzzy pic because it's a scan from a Polaroid instant picture). I felt pressure but no pain because of the sedative and injections of xylocaine at the screw points. The sedative worked through the MRI, too. I think I snored. But soon after the doctors started working on the game plan, the sedative wore off. I remember everything.

Twelve times into the blast chamber at 3 1/2 minutes each. Between each exposure, a team of doctors and nurses would swarm in, unbolt me from the collimator, sit me up, adjust the sides of the frame, lay me down, bolt me back in, and swarm out again.

Once they left, the blast doors would open and the table would move, slowly, slowly, into the chamber holding the Cobalt 60. Past stainless steel and then into concrete. If I were more than slightly claustrophobic, I would probably have freaked. Fortunately, though, there was enough room above my head to keep my fear to a dull roar.

After everything stopped moving, there was silence. Utter silence. Radiation is a silent killer. I could hear every scared breath I took, because they forgot to turn on the classical CDs I had brought to drown out the silence. Fortunately, they remembered after the first exposure.

After the treatment, they were quick to get me out of there. The doctor and the nurse unbolted the frame. The nurse bandaged the bolt holes and wound my head (front and back) with a long bandage. Then they scooted us out the back door because there was another patient awaiting treatment near the front door. I felt like someone who had been caught cheating on their wife, but I guess I understand they don't want to expose patients to potentially scary sights, such as bloody bandages.

We stayed Friday night in San Antonio just in case I had a severe reaction. I didn't, so first thing Saturday, Mel and I probably broke a few speed limits driving back to Austin. We both were glad to be home.

I couldn't take the bandage off until today, so I was up at 6 a.m., waiting for Mel to get up. She didn't budge until later, though, so I read the paper and ate breakfast and then went back to bed. Finally, abotu 10 a.m., we were both up at the same time and Mel helped me unwind the bandage. What an utter relief. I wash my hair every day, so going two days without washing it was itch-city.

My head is still numb from the xylocaine, though, and the stuff is migrating down my forehead, so now I've got really puffy eyes. I was really disappointed to find that the holes in my head from the frame aren't very big. I guess I wanted at least some physical reminder of this ordeal.

Oh well. At least I got a T-shirt.