In case you don't know me too well, I was diagnosed with a little ditty called bi-polar 2 a few years back. The 2 means that it's a milder more user friendly version of the manic depressive fun most people associate with the disorder. I also had some other crap wrong too, but was told I was in "partial" remission and was released from therapy with a hand shake and a kick out the door. I've been mostly dandy too until recently, what with all of the cancer and death staring me in the face crap.
It started when my chemo came to an end: did it work? Am I okay now? Will it come back? What if it didn't work? Up. Down. Back. Forth...no wonder I'm dizzy all of the time. And now that they've discovered the recurrence (that's fancy oncology speak for you have another tumor) I've just gotten even more swingy. I'm like a freaking yo-yo, I tell ya.
So the external beam radiation therapy is done and they're going to do this lovely new thing called brachytherapy. I dare you to google that and not freak out and have nightmares. It looks like a medieval sex torture technique.
Brachytherapy is when they put me under anesthesia (thank God) and insert what looks like a carburetor in my lady business. Then (brace yourselves ladies) they shoot all these needles out of the torture thing into...yes, into my pelvis through the dead end at the end of my lady business. Yep. Then, they do a CT scan to make sure I'm being tortured sufficiently and perform a radiation treatment through the needles. It's a special high dose of glow in the dark fun and I apparently have a groupon because they're doing this three times.
I honestly don't know what they'll do if this doesn't shrink the tumor. I don't know if they can operate again or do more chemo or what. I don't know. It better work. That's all there is to it because I don't know what else they can do. It's this thought process that has driven me into another round of bipolar fun.
One minute I'm optimistic and all is well. Then I swoop down into tears and despair only to snap someone's head off for mentioning to me that I have hair again as though I'm that oblivious. It's a vicious cycle and I'm kind of over it. As a result, I am once again practicing the life skills tools my therapist gave me to deal with myself and the world around me when I feel out of control. It seems to be working; my Xanax intake is down, but I'm still sitting. Wondering and waiting for the news. Any news.
I'll let you all know how my first brachytherapy procedure goes. It's tomorrow.