Pink Fleece and Radiation

Stop!

Before you start reading, please make sure you've read the prior stories contributed by the writers from Vocal Creators Saloon.

Pink Bubbles by Courtney Capone

Pink Roses Growing From Concrete by Tiandra Callaway Moore

Waiting Patiently in Pink by Danielle Jaycox

Pink Scars and Ribbons by Courtney Capone

These stories reflect a journey through breast cancer by a young woman named Cora. Just as real-life women everywhere, she's been thrown off course and out of her element by a disease that plays no favorites.

Now that you're all caught up, we continue with:

Part 5

Mastectomy had been a difficult decision for Cora. Her breasts weren’t swimsuit-model perfect or anything, but she was, as one might say, very attached to them.

However, the fact that there had been some lymph node involvement led her to decided on bilateral mastectomy. She didn’t want to repeat this ordeal at any time in the future by failing to be proactive.

She had envisioned having reconstructive surgery at the same time as the mastectomy, but that wasn’t going to be an option for her—her breasts were small, her skin was thin and radiation was likely to damage what was left. With questionable blood supply to a flap pocket, it wasn’t likely that a reconstructed breast would be viable.

Cora stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the flat and nipple-less chest that was now her reality. Her scarring wasn’t as bad as some pictures she’d seen of women who had been through this, but her expectations weren’t high. She’d been reading extensively about the effects of radiation on the skin, and knew that the appearance of her chest now could be altered in a negative fashion by the time she was done with treatment.

Radiation would only be administered on the left, where the disease had taken over her…her life. The right side would most likely look about the same as it did now.

She recalled her ill-advised trip to the bathroom in the hospital after her surgery. Wow, her surgeon had been upset. Removing bandages, getting up to walk without assistance, the whole endeavor could have led to ruptured sutures or infection or worse.

“I firmly resolve to be a more responsible patient,” Cora told her reflection.

She was scared.

Suzi called through the bathroom door, “Did you fall in?”

“Yeah,” Cora called back. “I’m swimming with the turds.”

She’d meant it to be funny, but it felt oddly like truth when it came out of her mouth.

Suzi, undaunted, barged right in. “I bought you this shirt, Cor,” she said, holding up a colorful pink plaid button-down made of silky-soft fleece. “Hopefully it will be comfortable.”

Cora brushed the fabric against her cheek. “It’s like a ‘Plushy’,” she smiled, referring to the soft stuffed animals she and Suzi still collected for no reason other than their soft cuteness. “Thanks.”

Suzi grinned. “I read that women are irritated by their clothes sometimes after radiation.”

“My clothes irritate me anyway.” Cora shrugged. She pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up. It was cozy and soft. “Mmm. Warm. Thank you.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Suzi said. She had taken the day off to go with Cora for her first treatment. They both knew she wouldn’t be able to do it every day—the law firm where she worked as a paralegal was extremely busy. They were both grateful that Suzi’s superior was sympathetic to her request.

When they arrived at the clinic they quickly discovered that things had changed—Suzi would not be allowed to enter the building at all, due to the new Covid-19 restrictions. While they were reading the “Absolutely no visitors allowed” sign, an office worker motioned for them to stand back and then came outside. She handed Cora a face mask, and Cora donned it obediently. “I’m sorry,” the young woman told Suzi. “Cora?”

“Yes.”

“This is your first session, so it will take a little longer today than the next visits.” She turned again to Suzi. “It’s going to be at least an hour today. Maybe you have an errand to run?”

“I’ll just sit in the car and answer some emails.” Suzi smiled good-naturedly. “I understand. We have to keep Cora and everyone else as safe as possible.”

Once inside, Cora filled out paperwork and signed her life away with promises to pay whatever her insurance didn’t cover. She was grateful her job included great health benefits—many of her friends were still working low paying part time jobs, struggling to make student loan payments and didn’t have health coverage at all.

Well, they were young—no one really believed they needed comprehensive health care benefits at this point in their lives, did they?

The treatment room was cold, and Cora was reluctant to doff her cozy new pink shirt in exchange for a hospital Johnny, but things were what they were.

About Radiation Therapy:

“Before your first treatment session, you'll go through a radiation therapy planning session (simulation), in which a radiation oncologist carefully maps your breast area to target the precise location of your treatment. During the simulation:

• A radiation therapist helps you into the best position to target the affected area and avoid damage to surrounding normal tissue. Sometimes pads or other devices are used to help you hold the position.

• You have a CT scan so that the radiation oncologist can locate the treatment area and normal tissues to avoid. You'll hear noise from the CT equipment as it moves around you. Try to relax and remain as still as possible to help ensure consistent, accurate treatments.

• A radiation therapist may mark your body with semipermanent ink or with tiny permanent tattoo dots. These marks will guide the radiation therapist in administering the radiation. Take care when washing to avoid scrubbing away the marks.

• The dosimetrist, the radiation physicist and the radiation oncologist use computer software to plan the radiation treatment you will receive. Once the simulation and planning are complete and multiple quality assurance checks are done, you can begin treatment.”

Source: Radiation therapy for breast cancer - Mayo Clinic

The radiation therapist, James, first put her through the CT scan machine. “We’re looking for the treatment areas and mapping out the radiation plan,” he told Cora. “It’s not common practice to do radiation after a complete mastectomy, but since there were lymph nodes involved, you and your Oncologist have opted to take the extra precaution and target a few areas. Hold your breath.”

Cora obeyed.

“Okay, breathe.”

After a short waiting period, while the scans were read, Cora was transferred to a rather uncomfortable table and laid flat.

“Do you have any tattoos?” James asked.

“No.”

“Well, I guess I get to be the first artist to ink you, then.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to ink a few tiny dots on the target areas, and they we will never miss our mark when administering the radiation. That way, you don’t have to worry about accidentally washing them away and having to go through all this preparation again.”

Cora let her mind drift through most of the process. Suddenly, all she could think about was being “inked”.

She cooperated with the commands to “roll a little to the left” and “raise your arm” and let herself be positioned and propped into the ideal posture for maximum effect.

For some reason, about halfway through this simulation process, her brain began to chant: “This is a test. This is only a test. If this were actual radiation, you would be—”

Would be…what?

Actually, once they’d done their little practice run, the process itself was begun. Sometimes patients did the simulation and then came back the following day to begin the real deal in earnest, but Cora’s team was able to do both on that first day.

Now alone in the room, lying as she’d been positioned and taking shallow breaths, Cora felt simultaneously over-exposed and utterly isolated. It was the oddest feeling. She knew she could be seen on camera, and considered flipping the bird for a brief second. But she knew altering her position to do so would mean yet another session of body positioning, and she was already tired.

“Can you hear me?” she called.

“I hear you.” The disembodied voice rang out in the room.

“I don’t feel anything. Is it working?”

“It’s working. No worries.”

No worries? Yeah, right!

A short time later, Cora arrived at Suzi’s car. Suzi unlocked the door and Cora got in. “Well?” Suzi demanded. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Mostly they shoved me around on the table, until I was a living pretzel, and then took nudes of me. Those should be showing up on the internet soon.”

“Cute.”

Cora grinned, hugged herself and rubbed her arms gently, enjoying the soothing softness of the fabric of her new pink fleece shirt. Suzi handed her a small pillow to place between her sensitive chest and the seatbelt, and she buckled up.

“I got my first tattoo today,” Cora announced.

“What? Without me?” Suzi tried and failed to look affronted by the news.

“It got me thinking.”

“About?”

“Reconstruction.”

Suzi drove carefully through the parking lot and stopped at the traffic signal. Red light. She gave Cora her full attention, since this was the first time she’d initiated the conversation in that direction.

Cora took a deep breath. “I don’t want to do it.”

Suzi didn’t react; she wasn’t sure what to feel about this declaration. Cora had never been what anyone could describe as vain about her body, but she had enjoyed wearing slinky tops and frilly bras and had never been embarrassed to show some skin.

“Well?” Cora cried.

Suzi pulled into traffic. “I’m processing,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not even sure what I mean.” She stopped again. “Darn red lights!” She lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, then realized it was empty. “Coffee?”

“I think I want a smoothie.” Cora was surprised to realize she wanted anything at all. She thought she’d be sick by now.

The car was in motion again, and Suzi aimed it toward the nearest Starbucks drive-through. She’d been so focused on Cora’s cancer that she’d given less than appropriate thought to the pandemic raging through the world. They would not be going inside any of their usual haunts.

“I guess I thought you would decide to do reconstructive surgery,” she said, after a few moments of silence.

“I thought I would,” Cora admitted. “I’m really young—I should have boobs, right?”

“Well…”

“But, Suzi? My chest is already scarred. I would have to have flap grafting, and they’d be cutting up my butt cheeks for skin and tissue. You know what? More flipping scars! On my cute ass!”

Suzi laughed. “You do have a cute ass,” she remarked.

“I know! Why would I do such a thing?”

“Why, indeed?”

These were things Suzi had considered herself. Would she reconstruct if it meant harvesting tissue and skin from her stomach, back or buttocks? Admittedly, she had more area options than Cora did—she was a bigger woman. But she thought she’d only do it herself if they could use her breast skin and do it at the same time as the mastectomy surgery. If she were ever in that situation, of course; since she wasn’t, she really couldn’t say for certain.

“I got some tiny little dots tattooed on my chest today,” Cora continued. “And I remembered reading about women who get tattoos over their scars. That’s what I want to do!”

“Yeah!” Suzi did a triumphant fist pump. In a considering tone, she added, “What will your mother say?”

Cora laughed. “This should be fun.” Her face fell, and the realization that she was never going to be Cora with the perky boobs again hit her full force. “Damn it. I deserve some fun!”

“Yes,” Suzi agreed. “You do.”

This story is a work of fiction based on a very real fight for many people across the world. In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, in lieu of tips or hearts, please consider donating to the Susan B. Komen foundation. The Vocal Creators Saloon's founder, Teisha Ransom, has created a donation link here.

Every dollar helps in telling someone living Cora's nightmare, "You are not alone."

For more information about Breast Cancer Support, please visit the Susan G Koman Website Social Support browser here.