Like this:

My last hyperbaric treatment is tomorrow. Friends, colleagues, my doctors, all want to know if it has “worked.” I honestly don’t know. I don’t want to let my doctor down by saying that I have this or that lingering symptom. During my last appointment, he looked so eager to hear a good report from me, but I had nothing definitive to offer. Well, only one thing: I’m not peeing blood.

The last 10 treatments are supposed to be where the magic happens, and in the last week I have certainly noticed a shift in my well being. I feel great! I have NO PAIN, not even in my ear. I am clear headed, focused, peppy, and optimistic. Healing has happened on a deep level, but without looking at the radiation-burnt tissues, it will be difficult to analyze. We’ll all know more as I make the rounds to see my urologist and my oncologist. Patience.

I wouldn’t say time has flown. These 40 treatments represent a huge commitment of time and hope. My hearing and eyesight have been compromised, I’ve been stressed about getting my work done, and I haven’t been able to leave town on a weekday. I suffered with ear pain for many weeks, and my distance vision, especially at night, is severely compromised. In fact, driving home this evening after treatment was truly frightening. I couldn’t quite tell if there were two or three sets of swirly cop car lights on the freeway just beyond my exit. Then my main surface street was blocked by more swirly lights and I had to pick my way through neighborhood streets and make a left turn against traffic (my normal route home is engineered so that no turning is required). Phew.

So I will arrange to get the tubes taken out of my eardrums and start healing those. And I will patiently wait for my eyes to normalize, and hope that I get to keep the wonderful near vision I have enjoyed.

And I will indulge in all the things I had to avoid while getting treatment. Estradiol patches! Deodorant! Skin cream! Perfume! Makeup! Jewelry (including my wedding ring)! I’m a gonna get a haircut and let the hairdresser put goop in my hair and I won’t wash it out! These indulgences my seem silly and superficial, but when told every single day that you can’t do them, it makes one obsess. One “graduating” patient apparently told the techs she would paint her toenails UP TO HER KNEES, thank you very much. I told the tech was going to spritz enough perfume to clear a room (I don’t care! I smell PRETTTTTTEEEEE. Wheeeee!!!)

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