Floating in the English Channel

Fans of "Foyle's War" (and if you're not a fan of "Foyle's War," you should be) may remember an episode that features an innovative doctor who gets into trouble with the military brass because of his unorthodox method of treating pilots suffering burn injuries. The doctor observed that pilots shot down over the English Channel, who spent some time floating in seawater before being rescued, seemed to recover from their injuries more quickly and thoroughly than pilots who were shot down over land. So he began treating all of his burn patients with saltwater soaks.

Well, that's me right now.  Radiation skin injuries are essentially burns, and saltwater soaks are a primary form of treatment.  Consequently I am now spending fifteen minutes at a time with a cool saltwater compress on the entire radiation treatment field, as they call it, followed by fifteen minutes of allowing the open air to bathe my injured skin.  That's a half an hour at a time, four times a day.  It makes for a rather quiet, contemplative, mostly homebound existence.

 Watch "Foyle's War." You won't regret it.

Michael Kitchen (center) is marvelous

as Christopher Foyle, police detective

in wartime Dover, England.

From this you may surmise, accurately, that I do indeed have some radiation injuries--two areas that are quite inflamed, one small area that is open and raw, a few small blisters, and overall quite red and tender.  Fortunately I only have full-breast radiation for the rest of this week.  Next week I have what they call "boost" radiation, which is confined to the tumor bed only, and the radiation tech said she was pretty sure they would be able to avoid the two most inflamed areas.  Then I'll be done.

The nurse who checked me yesterday said I'm actually doing quite well for this point in my treatment.  But I do find myself recurring to that image of the World War II pilots shot down over the Channel. At this point I feel like I have been assaulted and battered, in a variety of ways, for months on end: surgical biopsies in August, surgery in September, poison infusions October through December, and radiation from January to now.  By the time radiation is over, it will have been seven months.

That feels like a long time.  I am ready, more than ready, to be left alone for a while to heal.

This puts me somewhat at odds with the liturgical season (it is Ash Wednesday as I write this), and I must confess that this year my treatment calendar is far more prominent in my awareness than the liturgical calendar. I'm not really feeling like giving anything up for Lent.  I've already given up a lot.  I think I'll just focus on looking forward to Easter.

A surprise gift last Saturday from a friend.

Very cheering.