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Stanko Update: The Back Is Bad, But We Have A Plan
Turns out that having a L1 lytic bone metastasis in your back is a giant pain in the ass. I don’t recommend this to anyone.
Turns out that having a L1 lytic bone metastasis in your back is a giant pain in the ass. I don’t recommend this to anyone.
For the past two weeks, I have been home and essentially couch/bedridden. The lesion in my back has gotten to the point where it affects everyday aspects of my life. I cannot trust myself to move from room to room without pain or a flair-up, and asking me to bend over is like asking a 2×4 piece of wood to warp into a smooth semi-circle.
One of the lowest points of the past two weeks came when Emma and I went to dinner at the local diner. I had taken an edible and some pain pills before leaving, so I thought I was in the clear. Turns out, I was wrong. Sitting in a rigidly straight booth did not go well, and I had to leave the restaurant and sit in a reclined position in the car for 20+ minutes while Emma and her mom finished their food. It was not a proud moment.
My best friend during the recent trials and tribulations, besides the drugs, has been a heating pad situated on the long couch in the living room. It is currently leaned up against three pillows for an ideal angle. The electric bill for late August and September will be steep, with the air conditioners getting their last gasp and the pad burning a hole in my couch.
You know what I feel like? And my wife is going to love this. I feel like I am a cat. I find a comfortable position and stay in that spot as long as possible. I will move if I need food or if I need to go to the bathroom. The heating pad is equivalent to a sunbeam, and movement becomes the last thing one wants to do when you lock that in. Perhaps I have been confusing our family cat, Bogey; all he does is nap all day on our smaller couch.
So, what’s the plan for me not to become a permanent couch potato?
Radiation therapy.
It began with an appointment with a doctor at MSK to talk about my back. At this appointment, he told me that he needed two follow-up appointments completed before we could schedule the actual radiation therapy. He anticipated at the time needing three to five radiation sessions, and these radiation sessions must occur on back-to-back weekdays.
The first preparation appointment was an MRI. Do you know how many times I have had an MRI? I believe I have reached double-digits, which is probably not something to be proud of. I have had to lie still on my back for my knees, legs, head, and, ironically, my back. I’ve had two absolutely brutal MRI experiences. The first of which I couldn’t sit still, and the operators wanted to kill me. To my recollection, it was earlier on in my life during one of my leg injuries. The second horrendous MRI experience came when I was in the hospital with blood clots after first being diagnosed. That was the longest MRI of my life, and right after it I was shuttled into a surgery room to get a pick line installed. You remember the surgery where they kept me partially awake and I heard someone explaining to fellows the whole process?
This particular MRI appointment went relatively smoothly. However, the nurse who had to install my mediport for the MRI’s contrast was a little rough. It didn’t help that I wasn’t fully prepared to get stabbed in the chest. It is a mental thing as much as a physical thing, seeing how I am horrendous with medical stuff.
The second preparation appointment was a radiation simulation. This is exactly how it sounds; I went to MSK and was brought back to the radiation therapy area. A nurse instructed me to put a gown on, and then I was led into the room for further poking and prodding.
There was a lot of poking and prodding.
I was instructed to lay on my back, which was a bit surprising because I thought I would be stomach down seeing how they are going to be zapping my back. However, I am laid on another cold metal slab like the duteous rule follower I am. Then the two nurses stripped me of my gown and I was naked from the waist up, which is something I was not mentally prepared for. First, they put this plaster molding over the chest and I had to hold my chin up high as this molding began to harden on my chest. To my understanding, this plastic contraption acts as a seatbelt, keeping my upper body as still as possible while the radiation is happening.
After the molding portion of this simulation, the two nurses began taking turns marking up my torso and literally tattooing me in certain spots where other measurements are essential. Do I have any idea what the five little ink splots on my chest and hip area mean? Absolutely not. I can only assume that it’s to help aim the radiation.
The radiation simulation was a completely different experience for me—very different from the MRI. And I will be honest, I was not ready for it. The two nurses were doing their job, but the literal shuttling of my body to get into the proper position, followed by the tracing of markers, reminded me that I know absolutely nothing about much of the treatment I am getting. I pray it works because I would like to be able to engage in everyday life again.
It has gotten to the point where my grandmother gifted me a device to help put socks on because I have a hard time bending over. I didn’t get cookies or food, but some candles to brighten the house and a sock assister. Oh, how can life come at you so fast.
Speaking of fast, that is precisely what I am not nowadays. When my back is at its least painful, I try to go outside and go for a three-block walk. It takes me about 45 minutes to complete the walk, but the effort of going outside and moving my legs feels good. It is humbling on these walks to get passed by fellow “walkers.” I can sense them passing and thinking, “eat my bubbles!” (There’s a very obscure Finding Nemo reference for you).
My rehab to contend with my fellow Norwalk peddlers technically begins on Monday, September 16th, and then continues on the 17th and 18th. It’s three straight days of getting strapped in and zapped by “high-energy particles or waves, such as X-rays, gamma rays, electron beams, or protons.” It all sounds very high-tech and science fiction, but I just have to put faith in the fact that these giant, expensive circular machines and their operators can do the job.
If anyone plans on hearing anything from me that week of September, I wish them luck. I have those three straight days of radiation therapy, and on Wednesday, I have two additional doctor appointments before the conclusion of the treatment. Then on Thursday, I have my regularly scheduled chemotherapy, followed by the New England Patriots playing the New York Jets on Thursday night football. It is a week of pain, both in the physical and the mental sense. Why will I subject myself to watching the Patriots getting killed on a short week? Because I am a glutton for punishment.
I hope that the next time I write a Stanko Update, I will do it with a lot less everyday pain. They say radiation therapy works quickly, and I will hold the experts to those remarks. Get me back to work. Get me back to “normal”. I don’t want to live life with the physical body ailments of an elderly senior citizen anymore. Let me relish what I have left in my youthful thirties, even if there is a cancerous asterisk.
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