It seems like only yesterday I was lying down to face my first tattoos. Now, four radiotherapy treatments down and I have completed my first week. There’s nothing like a daily mid-afternoon date with the hospital to make those days disappear – and fast!

So what have I learned from these daily doses? Here’s a quick rundown:

1) Don’t forget your dressing gown belt: it may seem like an insignificant detail, but a dressing gown without a belt just means you will flash more people than is really necessary.
2) Turn it around: to preserve your dignity a little longer, wear your dressing gown the wrong way round. That way, when you lie down on the bed, the technicians only need to reveal the blast area.
3) You can wash those felt-tip pen marks off: thanks to all those who advised me of this. It does seem like they only need to play noughts and crosses on your boob at the first session though. It’s just been one mark ever since.
4) Doublebase cream is your friend: what I love about this twice-daily (at least) ritual is the fact that it forces me to do a bit of scar massage at the same time. Doublebase may look thick and gooey, but it is actually lovely on the skin. Creaming first thing and at night works for me (it has to be two hours before treatment so it has time to absorb).
5) Practise your best rag doll pose: Tempting as it is to help the technicians get you into the correct position, it is best to let yourself go heavy on the bed so they can get wiggling.
6) Arriving early for an appointment is no bad thing: while I have never been called before my slot, it is better to check in than kill time in the hospital foyer, so you are more likely to be seen on time.
7) Keep it loose: while it is still early days for the skin, I am already seeing the benefits of keeping your clothes loose to reduce friction. It’s also good to carry your handbag on the other shoulder.
8) Clear that diary: radiotherapy schedules do change. It’s day four and I am on my third timetable. While you can move things around, it is good to avoid anything that puts you under extra time pressure (especially if your treatment is taking place underground with zero reception).
9) Expect to be taped up…but only on the first appointment: there is more setup involved at the first treatment, so you may find you have wires taped to your boob. Photos are also taken daily for the first few appointments (in my case four) before going weekly. Things speed up when there’s no topless photo shoot involved!
10) Don’t forget to breathe: if, like me, you become fascinated by the way the laser moves across your skin when you breathe in, don’t try and stop it by holding your breath (although this may be different if treatment is to the left side close to the heart). As a friend pointed out, you then have to breathe deeper to catch up – therefore moving the laser even more.
11) Keep that jewellery to a minimum: the post-radio hunt round the handbag for the rings, bracelet, watch and earrings keeps me in the changing cubicle for so long, I am convinced they must think I don’t know how to dress myself.
12) Pack that radio bag – and leave it that way: one foolproof way to remember your dressing gown (and belt), radiotherapy cloth, good book and appointment card, is to keep it together in a bag and leave it by the front door. Avoids all that last minute rushing too (unless, like me, you have sourdough bread in the oven that refuses to go brown)!

If reading this list makes you feel exhausted, you’ll appreciate just how significant the latest developments in radiotherapy treatment really are. In July, news reports applauded the introduction of intrabeam radiotherapy, which is administered at the time of breast surgery when the tumour is being removed. While I believe it can only be used when the tumour is contained within the breast tissue with no further spread, if this becomes standard practice, it could transform the lives of those going through treatment. As much as I admire and love my hospital for all it has done for me, I think daily visits are a little too much.

Four days in and I have my routine. Just 11 sessions left to go until the end of active treatment! Woohoo!

Of all the things I thought would be discussed in a radiotherapy treatment room, Star Wars was not one of them. Today, however, after a bit of banter about how difficult it is to describe the experience of going through a blasting, one of the ladies handed me a piece of paper with the following words on it: ‘Linear accelerator Star Wars (or LINAC)’.

Typed into Google, this is what you get:

For those unacquainted with a radiotherapy room (you lucky things), this Star Wars figurine is sat on a linear accelerator (or LINAC), which is the device most commonly used for external beam radiation treatments. I love the fact he’s zapping planet tumour with his red laser beams!

Ok, so while not quite as futuristic as a Star Wars movie, I think it demonstrates the fact radiotherapy is quite unlike another other form of medical treatment. It also demonstrates that, even in a 15-minute appointment, there is always room for a bit of banter.

Even without the ‘force’ on my side, today’s blasting was so much more relaxing.

No tapes, no wires, just one felt-tip pen mark and a lot more laughter. (Apparently the appointments get quicker as they become more confident with the positioning. I will move to weekly photos after day 3 if everything is still ok.) I was also in and out of the hospital within 25 minutes flat, which is certainly a new personal best in terms of appointments.

There was even time for a photo or two given things were running to time.

This is Elekta 4. She may look like a giant version of something you’d find at the hairdressers (and if you don’t agree, forgive me, I haven’t been in a while :-)), but I certainly wouldn’t mess with her. She can deliver high-energy x-rays, which makes her a pretty special cancer-fighting machine. You can also see the plinths on which I have to rest my arms while the dose is delivered. (Once again, I had issues with tingling and a dead arm, so am hoping that will improve.)

And this is the autumnal forest scene designed to distract me from the ceiling tiles (Elekta 1 doesn’t have such a scene). I am so glad it was there, because I spent most of the treatment suppressing the urge to wriggle about (why is it when you are forced to lie still you are so tempted to move?). It also distracted me from the fact that every time I took a breath, I could see the green laser moving. I decided it might be best to hold my breath, but that wasn’t particularly fun. I then decided that I think way too much when left alone in a room with a high-tech piece of medical equipment. It would be far better for me to imagine myself walking among the autumn leaves, which I think is the idea. 

It’s back to the ceiling tiles for tomorrow’s blast. I can do without the autumn leaves, but now have high expectations for the level of banter now possible. If you have a burning question about radio (or other interesting radiotherapy-related You Tube clips) please post here. Happy to ask away.

Two down, 13 to go…

Thank you Emily Barr. Oh, how I needed you and your gripping novel in the radiotherapy waiting room. Once more the odd one out (half the age of anyone else waiting and one of the only ones not being asked to drink water), a good book was the only thing stopping me from staring aimlessly at the ceiling and wishing I had a few more wrinkles and a bit more hair (except for a few men, I was the only baldie as well as the baby of the group).

Of course, the need for reading matter wasn’t the only discovery I made at this, my first radio blasting. I think the most essential item I won’t be forgetting tomorrow is my dressing gown belt. Having applauded myself for remembering to pack my dressing gown, I was amused to learn that, without its belt, it is about as useful at preserving your dignity as a hospital gown. Wearing it backwards, so it can be whipped off at the last minute meant that I gave all that could see me a good look at my naked back. It was a small crowd, but having not had to strip for a good few weeks, I was a little out of practice.

Before the main event, I was treated to a quick overview, reminding me of the need to cream up and not shave (not that there is anything to shave). I was asked to sign a form declaring I wasn’t pregnant, recall the date of my last period (to which I answered ‘March-ish’) and confirm I understood the daily drill. I was slightly surprised to be handed a new sheet highlighting that a good number of my appointment times have already been altered (and that I will be meeting Elekta 1 and 4 now). It looks like my life (and my diary) is now firmly in the hands of the NHS for the next three weeks and it seems I will now be enjoying many an evening in its company!

As appointments go, it was pretty futuristic, if you ignore the office-like ceiling tiles and the old-fashioned swimming pool-like changing cubicles. Here’s a quick rundown:

• On entering the room, I was asked to lie down on the bed, position my feet up against a foot rest and raise my arms above my head (in exactly the same way as I did for the planning appointment). I was then wiggled around a bit (it’s very important you don’t help with the wiggling even though you want to be useful).
• Once in position, the three people in the room started speaking in code (basically a series of measurements) and drawing on me in felt tip pen to ensure they lined me up correctly. Green lasers and what looked like a ruler were projected onto my skin and I was even treated to a few bits of tape, which were fixed to the breast and above and attached to wires. I believe this is to help them work out that the right dose is getting to the right part of the treatment area.
• When the team were happy with my positioning, they left the room while the chest area was x-rayed. This is to make sure the position matches that of the radiotherapy planning appointment. I, meanwhile, just had to lie still and go to my happy place (which included trying to get intimately acquainted with those ceiling tiles).
• After that, the machine clicked a few times to help the team focus in on the area to be blasted. The clicking was followed by a series of fairly loud noises (a bit like tinny buzzing). Then it was all over and I was free to leave with my felt tip pen marks and belt-less dressing gown.

The entire appointment (excluding waiting time) lasted about 25 minutes.

Was it painless? Not completely. While the treatment itself caused no pain, the ongoing tingling problems I have in my hands meant that when I raised them above my head, my right side decided to go dead (in that way limbs often do in bed). Normally, I would just move and shrug it off. Fifteen minutes in the same position without moving a muscle, however, and I wasn’t sure my arm would ever come back to life. Thankfully, it is typing now, so order has been restored.

By the way, I now know what this interesting piece of cloth is. It is less a medical gismo and more a piece of material designed to stop me sticking to the bed. It also helps them move me around without (in the words of my radiotherapist) ‘any heavy handling’. I thought it had magical properties. But, no, turns out it is just a cloth!

How does it feel now? My boob is twitching slightly but otherwise fine. I feel a bit sleepy, but that is probably more to do with the build up than anything else. Mostly, I just feel a bit weird (nice and medical for you). I must confess, being back in hospital, reminded of the invisible illness that tried to steal away my life, while being blasted with invisible doses of radiation is actually not that fun. And, the worst part is, I have to do it all over again tomorrow – at 4.45pm. Rush hour and radiation! Whoop! And this is supposed to be the easy part!

If anyone knows whether or not it is ok to wash off these rather exciting black felt-tip pen marks, please let me know.

Now all I need to do is find that dressing gown belt!

Radiotherapy is now all that stands between me and the end of active treatment. 

Tomorrow, I will go in for the first of fifteen blasts to my chest area and collar bone. And, in three weeks time, (if we ignore the fact the side effects are often worse a few weeks after treatment, I will still have side effects from chemo, no hair and ten years of drugs to take – not to mention a new nipple and tattoo to secure), it will all be over! No more needles. No more frequent visits to the hospital. No more cancer. Just me, a daily reminder in pill shape form and the determination to see the brighter side of life.

Up until now, I have seen radiotherapy as less of a treatment and more as the only thing stopping me from closing the door on this hospital-focused chapter of my life and moving forward. Now, as the day approaches, however, I confess I am a little nervous. I have been told that if you can handle chemo, you can more than handle radiotherapy. But, never one to get complacent, I don’t think I will feel entirely comfortable until I have stripped off and lifted my arms above my head a few times. 

Of course, while it hasn’t plagued every waking moment, I am prepared for this next stage. I have my dressing gown, appointment card and that strange piece of cloth I was given at the ready and I’ve been creaming the area since Thursday to get the skin ready for its close up. I have my tattoos (which still make me laugh every time I look at them) and I have already been thinking about which loose clothes and bras I can wear that hopefully won’t break the skin (they suggest you don’t wear dresses so you don’t have to strip each time). The information sheet warns against the wearing of ‘tight elastic undergarments’. I am just hoping one of my bras fits the bill otherwise running may prove a little tricky. 

Cream recommendations vary from hospital to hospital. For me, the recommendation is Doublebase, which I would describe as a gunge-like gel. Skin reactions are common, however, so I am creaming up two to three times a day and will avoid any other deodorants and shower gels for the period (thank goodness they removed my sweat glands in surgery). The advice is to use a small amount on the treatment area, massaging it in with the fingertips. The aim is to get a light covering so the cream absorbs easily. 

Amusingly, I was told that the only way radiotherapy can be effective is if you don’t miss a session and are blasted for five days in a row. I guess if that were completely true, we wouldn’t be honouring the August bank holiday! My treatment now starts on a Tuesday and finishes on a Monday! 

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, external radiotherapy does not make you radioactive. I will not glow yellow or look like an extra from a nuclear disaster movie. I will just be me – but maybe with a red boob and baggy tops! 

I am ready to meet Elekta (yes, my radiotherapy machine has a name). Wish me luck! 

NB: if you’ve recently discovered you’re due to have radiotherapy and would like to know more about the planning appointment, click here to read lesson 133.