Insurance aside, radiation treatment deserves attention in its own right. Even after MRI’s, CT scans, and a PET scan, radiation still strikes me as the most science-fictional experience I’ve had as a cancer patient.
The basic problem with radiation is also its strength:
radiation destroys cells. If it hits cancer cells intensely enough, it's likely to destroy them. If it hits
healthy cells intensely enough, it's likely to destroy them too. (Incidentally, this doesn't have to be done just in one session; the doses add up, which is why my treatment will consist of 15 separate sessions lasting till mid-July.) So the job of radiation treatment is to
find a way to concentrate as much as possible on the cancer cells while sparing
the healthy cells nearby. In my case, that means sparing both the healthy parts
of my liver (still chugging away with blood test numbers almost entirely back
in the normal range). It also means sparing the important
organs nearby, notably the stomach and the intestine.
There seem to be two basic ways of making sure the radiation
hits just its true target, or rather does so as much as possible -- absolute perfection
doesn’t seem to be attainable. The first method is by very carefully shaping
the radiation beam; the second is by making sure the beam is as precisely aimed
at the tumors it is meant to target as possible.
As the patient, I don’t have anything to do with shaping the radiation beam. That’s a technological feat that the machinery is designed for, and the operators of the machinery carefully manage.
As the patient, I don’t have anything to do with shaping the radiation beam. That’s a technological feat that the machinery is designed for, and the operators of the machinery carefully manage.
The basic idea, as explained on a National Cancer Institute website, is to deliver beams of radiation from many directions, so as to “conform[]
to the shape of the tumor” – hence the name “3-D conformal radiation.” Further
refinement of the shaping of the beam can come from a version of 3-D conformal
radiation called “intensity-modulated radiation therapy” or IMRT; again
according to the National Cancer Institute website, “IMRT uses many more
smaller beams than 3-D conformal and the strength of the beams in some areas
can be changed to give higher doses to certain parts of the tumor.” Finally, in
stereotactic body radiation therapy (SBRT), the same website explains that “many small beams of radiation are
aimed at the tumor from different directions. Each beam has very little effect
on the tissue it passes through, but a precisely targeted dose of radiation is
delivered to the site where all the beams come together.” My understanding is
that IMRT and SBRT are overlapping terms, and that they describe what I’m
receiving.
All that, again, is the work of the machinery and the
medical staff. Meanwhile my contribution is to assist with the aiming of all
these beams. My assistance isn’t very dramatic: my assignment is to lie in a mold that
was prepared at my “simulation” session three weeks ago and that holds me
in a particular position, and then to follow instructions meant to get my
position even more precisely set. I start my assignment by lying down on the narrow table where
I’ll be during the radiation. Then the medical staff take over; at this preparatory stage I'm supposed to be a
dead weight, and not try to help the staff, who will move me to exactly where they
want me.
Then my job is to breathe. This is a lot harder than it
sounds. Most of the radiation seems to be sent my way while I hold my breath;
that’s because breathing itself moves the organs inside you quite a bit. But
naturally people hold their breath to different degrees at different moments,
and the radiation staff want me at exactly the right point. So I take a breath, then they tell
me to let just a little breath out, then a little more, then breathe in just a
bit … and then, when I’ve got just the right amount of breath in me, they start
the actual radiation. Only by then I’ve already used up quite a bit of the
oxygen from that first breath, and now I don’t get to breathe again till they’re
done! Two or three times they took me right to my limit, with my chest
beginning to shake as I needed more and more urgently to breathe. I wasn’t sure
whether that would be an aiming problem itself, but they told me afterwards that I’d done
a good job – so I hope they got the targeting they needed. I also hope I’ll be a
better breather today (Monday, June 25), when I go for my second session.
But I haven’t yet said what really seems so futuristic about
this process. I lie on the table, with a linear accelerator behind me that’s
producing the radiation beams. (A linear accelerator!) Meanwhile three lenses,
all quite large – maybe two or three square feet – revolve around me. I wasn't quite sure where they were coming from or going to, because I was in the body mold
on the table and could only look up, but it appears that the group of lenses can revolve at
least part way under the table on which I’m lying. The whole apparatus looks
something like this picture (which happens to be of a Varian Medical Systems machine -- I'm not sure which brand Sloan Kettering is using):
One of these lenses, perhaps the biggest, is round (you can see it near the top of the photo). The round lens is the
source of the radiation beams and has cross-hairs embedded in it that I think
are used for targeting. There are also laser beams, apparently coming from the
walls of the room, that help in the targeting too; I’m guessing these are aimed at the
tattoos that I was given during the “simulation” session.
The other two lenses are rectangular and are used for taking x-rays as the process goes along, to make sure that everything looks right inside me. (They're visible sticking out on the sides of the machine in the picture.) There was a moment during my first session, this past Friday, when everything paused, while the doctor reviewed the images they had so far, I guess to make sure that in fact everything did look right. Fortunately it did, and then my actual treatment started. In the future, I think the treatment will get underway at once, so the whole process will be quicker, maybe 20 minutes of actual time being treated per day.
The other two lenses are rectangular and are used for taking x-rays as the process goes along, to make sure that everything looks right inside me. (They're visible sticking out on the sides of the machine in the picture.) There was a moment during my first session, this past Friday, when everything paused, while the doctor reviewed the images they had so far, I guess to make sure that in fact everything did look right. Fortunately it did, and then my actual treatment started. In the future, I think the treatment will get underway at once, so the whole process will be quicker, maybe 20 minutes of actual time being treated per day.
The lenses revolve very near
me – the medical staff assured me that I would never actually be hit by one,
and this proved to be true, but they’re still really close – and they do so
quite silently. Meanwhile I’m listening to music; they told me I could choose
anything and I had a good time with Beatles songs I hadn’t heard in years. So
as I’m working on being a good breather these big lenses are quietly revolving
around me, and it looks like something out of 2001.
And I say: great!