Claustrophobia

During my treatments I get three bursts of protons at different angles. The first dose is from below the table angling up into the area under my jaw. The second dose is more of a straight-on burst. For the third dose the sending unit is aimed at an angle of about 25 degrees pointing down on my neck. To get in the best position, my table is elevated to the point where the monstrous machine is only an inch from my face.

When the therapists fasten the mask to my face, It would be easy to have a feeling of claustrophobia and even more so with the behemoth pressing against my face. Today I was wondering why I am not bothered by this anxiety disorder. I did not dwell on those thoughts, but I could not help but think of my mother.

When Cheryl and I and our two preschool boys told our families goodbye at the airport in Jackson, Mississippi, it was not a good scene. The excitement of moving to France to study French got our adrenaline pumped, so we were not emotional about leaving—until all of our parents started crying. Granted they were not crying about not getting to see Cheryl and me for four years, but they were going to miss the only grandchildren in either of our families. 

We were fairly certain that my parents would not come to see us as they had never traveled by air, and they probably could not afford it anyhow. After we had lived in Tours, France for four months, my dad sent us an air letter (For those who are not old enough to know what this is, I have included a link: https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/air-letter) informing us that they were going to come to France for the Christmas holidays.

We were shocked, and then we were further surprised when we found out how they were going to buy the air tickets—by selling a pickup and three cows!

We drove to Paris to pick my mom and dad and my youngest brother, Danny, up at the airport. It was a happy reunion, but my mother looked very pale and a little disoriented. As she hugged me, she said, ”I thought I was going to die on that plane!” She was claustrophobic, and she suffered during the entire trip, but knowing that she was going to see us kept her going. 

As we were waiting to pick up their luggage, she said to us, ”I will never step on a plane again in my life.” I quickly said to her, “Mom, are you going to stay here in France with us? If not, then you will have to get back on a plane to return to Mississippi.” She said that she would make herself get back on the plane one more time, but that would be the last time she would ever fly. And, it was! 

Joy ride

Twenty three treatments done and 10 more to go.

As I lie on the table a therapist gives me my mouthpiece. They wet it with a solution so that it can more easily be placed in my mouth. The  therapists clamp the mask on my face and shoulders, and then they stand at their control station in the gantry, and my table begins to make a quarter turn so that it will be directly in the center of the 100 ton gantry. 

Before the proton therapy begins each day the therapists take X-rays  to make sure that I am properly aligned with the proton machine. Once they are sure that everything is aligned, they leave the gantry and go to  the master control room for that particular gantry. 

Immediately the whole gantry (remember it is shaped like a space capsule—see photos on Instagram LarryCox 354) begins to turn. For perspective the mask is so tight on my face that when the treatment is finished my cheekbones ache from the pressure of the mask. Therefore, I can only partially open my eyes, and to do so is uncomfortable. But I like to open my eyes when the gantry begins its counter-clockwise movement because it gives the sensation that the table I am on is turning upside down and I am suspended in space. 

Each day in my mind I call this my joy ride because it is like a “ride” at an amusement park. I have never been a fan of the extreme joy rides at amusement parks. I’m more of the merry-go-round type of joy ride person.

During my treatment today I thought much about the joy ride that I have had for the past 71 years. God has richly blessed me with family, friends and colleagues. I feel so undeserving of His grace, love, and protection.  

Thank you, Lord, for my Joy Journey. May all that I say, all that I do and all that I think bring glory to You. 

Glory

When I was first diagnosed with this salivary gland cancer, my doctor did not paint a rosy picture for a prognosis. The first needle biopsy report revealed highly differentiated carcinoma. You know when you start reading on the web you can find most any answer you might be searching for. Most things that I read about any kind of highly differentiated cancer were not good. 

At that point I had little information, but I had enough to know that I needed to recognize that this may be the end of my last season in this earthly body. I was fine with that. Don’t get me wrong here—I love living, but I am ready to meet Jesus face-to-face any time. I want to be with my family and friends, but the other option is to be at the feet of the Lord Jesus. Oh that would be glory for me!

I don’t completely understand my prognosis now after three biopsies, two surgeries and 21 days of proton therapy. My cancer is called a high grade one because the original cancer in the salivary gland was outside its margins, so they don’t really know if it is in other places in my neck or head. I am told that it is an aggressive cancer that usually moves to the lungs. My cat scans show no metastasis in my chest.

All in all, I am blessed to have had it diagnosed early and to have it contained in a small area. Each day I am in the men’s waiting room at Emory Proton Therapy Center, and I have become friends with a couple dozen fellows who are all having proton treatments for various kinds of cancer. 

Other than looking like I have a severe sunburn on the left side of my neck and swelling and scar tissue, I don’t look sick, and frankly, I am feeling well—with the exception of the slight discomfort of mouth sores, dry mouth, thick mucous and a little difficulty swallowing. When I see some of these other guys and hear their stories, I realize how blessed I am.  There’s a forty year old with a similar cancer to mine who has lost his eye. There is another man with cancer of the eyebrow (ever heard of that one??) and he has only a sunken in skin graft over the place where his left eye used to be. Another friend has cancer of the optic nerve and he only has a small opening where his mouth used to be and has open sores where his nose was. He eats though a stomach peg and has lost 100 pounds. I could tell you more, but you will easily  get my point here: I am so blessed to have had an early diagnosis, quality head and neck surgeons and the best radiation oncologist at Emory.

Lord, may we continually praise you for the way you take care of us. May we never take our health for granted. May we always have compassion for our fellow travelers in this world. Help me not to whine, but help me to give glory and honor to you all the days of my life. Amen. 

Words

While lying on the treatment table today, I had more difficulties with the “bite block” that I wear in my mouth under my mask. I needed to cough, but it is impossible to cough with that contraction pressed into my mouth. It is hard to explain, but it is a most uncomfortable feeling.

I was praying but after that coughing sensation I knew I had to do something else to distract my mind. I started wondering how many words were in my vocabulary. I started counting and arrived at a few hundred, and before I knew it, the treatment was over. So, I figured I knew at least a thousand words.

That led me to do some surfing on the web. I found a study by “The Economist” magazine from 2013 that found that the average native-speaking adult has a vocabulary range of 20,000-35,000 words. Wow! I must know a lot more words than I imagined. 

That intrigued me, so I did some more surfing and from a study done by the University of Arizona I found that the average adult speaks 16,000 words per day. Now I found some other stuff about women speaking more words per day than men, but I am not going there!

Ironically, today in a phone call after my treatment someone called my attention to this verse - Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. - Ephesians 4:29

After my surfing tonight I have been thinking a lot about how many of the 16,000 words that I spoke today were not pleasing to the Lord. 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.  - Psalm 19:14

Half of thirty three

Today I had my 17th treatment of 33. 

Yesterday I  finished my 16th treatments, but I have 33 total treatments. So when did I get to the halfway mark?

That question bothered me today during my treatment. As the therapists started working on me I couldn’t relax  until I figured it out. 

I am just like that. For example, if I’m getting up at 6 AM I never set my alarm for precisely 6 AM. I set the alarm clock at 5:57 or 6:06. Long ago Cheryl stopped asking me why. 

When you’re reading a fast-paced novel, have you ever tried to set the book aside for a couple weeks before finishing the last chapter? I have frequently done that. Again, Cheryl no longer asks me why, but I’m going to tell you: it teaches me discipline. 

And yes, I do the same thing when watching a good movie. I can stop just before the climax and come back to it after a few days. Cheryl never lets me do that when we watch a movie together.

I also like to watch multiple movies during the same period of time – meaning I will start one movie, watch part of it, and then go to another movie and watch part of it, and, then, maybe watch part of the third movie all within an hour or so. 

At least a few of you reading this are going to say, “Larry is weird!” Maybe. 

I like to think of it this way: indeed I am different from other people because I am the way God created me. When I was a kid one of my Sunday school teachers taught me a song that goes like this: Look all the world over there’s no one like me, no one like me, no one like me. Look all the world over there’s no one like me. There’s no one exactly like me.

When I stand face-to-face with the Lord in heaven I think he may ask me a question like this: Larry, why did you not spend more time being like I created you instead of trying to be like someone else?

Oh! How did I figure out when half my treatments were finished? It was easy. While strapped down to the table I estimated the halfway point of my treatment today and then celebrated all by myself being halfway through my 33 treatments 

P.S. when I eat a piece of pie I always eat the point of the pie last!

Photos

Google has not made any improvements on blogger since I set up this account in 2007. I can’t post photos now on blogger, so  I have posted some photos on my Instagram: Larry Cox 354.

I am trying to set up a new platform for the blog but I am having difficulty and need some help to set it up. In the meantime, thanks for checking out the photos on Instagram. 

Hotty Toddy

There are four gantries at Emory Proton Center. These are gigantic treatment areas that look like the nose of a giant space capsule. Each one has a different color. You will recall that I wrote a few days ago about my Cameroonian friend, Ndipku. He is in the purple gantry. I am usually in the orange gantry, but sometimes when the therapists get behind or there is a snafu in some of the technology, they will move me to a different gantry for that particular day. 

So I am usually in the orange treatment room, and there are five therapists who are on different shifts so that three of them are there at any given time. 

As soon as I walk into the treatment area the therapists are busy getting everything ready for my treatment. I climb onto the table and lie down. They put a wedge under my knees so that my back is more comfortable. They pull my gown down across my abdomen so that my ”tattoos” (actually Sharpie marks with tape over them) are visible. These marks are important as they assist in aligning me in the same place each day. 

I lay my head in a custom-made head rest. They place the hand pegs in place that I will hold onto firmly during the treatment (to help keep me from moving). A therapist hands me my bite block, and I place it in my mouth and pull my lips around it to get it set properly. This mouthpiece keeps my mouth in the open position during the treatment. 

Then comes the “piéce de resistance” comes out—the alien mask. After it is clamped down tightly, my table whirls out into the center of the gantry.

During this process I am talking with the therapists trying to get to know them. I asked the young lady about her education and we talked about that. Then just before they clamped the mask on me, I asked the young man named Rueben where he went to school. He said, ”Ole Miss.” That got me so excited that I sat up on the table and yelled out, “Hotty Toddy!” That was very uncharacteristic for me because that is the title of a famous Ole Miss jingle that has a couple of words in it that are not a part of my normal vocabulary. 

Nevertheless, when I said that Rueben said, ”You went to Ole Miss, too?” We delayed the treatment talking about him growing up in Pearl and about Mississippi stuff. 

Every day the Lord gives me a small gift that makes the treatment go so much more smoothly. Thank You, Heavenly Father for all the small things that You provide for us on a daily basis that many times we either don’t recognize or don’t acknowledge that they came from You. 

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. - Romans 8:28