radiotherapy-schmerapy

First off, congratulations if you manage to read the title of this post out loud without swallowing your tongue. I'm a little stuck for pithy title ideas and that was the best I could come up with. It's no "She sells seashells on the seashore, but the shells she sells are seashells I'm sure", but still a bit of a challenge for the old hypoglossal nerve.

Really, though, "radiotherapy-schmerapy" fits the bill exactly. It really isn't very exciting. I've had 3 so far and the entire routine goes like this: I walk the 1.2 miles to the Freeman at a random time each day. I report to reception and wait around for a bit, idly leafing through glossy home improvement magazines and wondering why cancer patients get given the magazines with typos in - is it to stir up a bit of fight for life in them? Or sink them into an even deeper depression: "Oh God, another misplaced apostrophe, I might as well give up now. Farewell, cruel world!"

Foaming a little at the mouth from grammatical errors, I am summoned into the radiotherapy room, where I announce my date of birth, pop my hearing aids out and lie down on the bench under the scary machine. The mask goes on with lots of horrible pops as it's bolted in and I wiggle my head desperately to find the comfiest way to arrange my face. The lights go dark and the radiographers move the table about to line up the little red lights with the dots on my mask and thus position me correctly. Lights come back up and they tap me twice on the arm to tell me they're leaving the room. I hum non-committally in reply, as the mask does rather eliminate one's capacity for speech. Then I lie there counting the seconds while the machine moves round me slowly. Today the mask was only on for 5 minutes and 5 seconds.

Then the technicians rush back into the room and release me from my facial prison. I bounce back up, jam the hearing aids back in, say cheerio and toddle off home. I will get photos, I promise - I just haven't had time to so far. It's all very "wham, bam, thank you ma'am", only with dangerous levels of radiation.

No side effects as yet, though after the first one I convinced myself I had chest pain and that my lung was obviously irritated from the radiation and I would die a horrible death coughing up blood. Definitely psychosomatic. Nothing even happens for at least a week anyway. If it does, you'll be the first to hear about it.

Talking of side effects, all my chemo side-effects seem to have cleared up. Energy-wise I am absolutely fine, especially after France. My arm veins still feel a bit tight at times and obviously are hard to get blood from. Alas, I still cannot look at mango chutney. The hair is growing back nicely with good coverage, though that didn't stop me trying on and buying another wig:which led to many of my dearest friends failing to recognise me on Tuesday night (medic post-exam debauchery; they were all wasted). Tried this one on too and was very tempted, but it was £30 and I have decided to stop pissing money down the drain now. The money I got for having cancer has now run out which is severely limiting my shopping activities.


Not much other news - am hanging out with my favourite Italian (Gaita) making ratatouille and cheesecake, and going to visit the lovely Mavis in Hexham this weekend. If anyone is around in Newcastle next week then let me know :D or I shall import my sister from Nottingham and you'll all be sorry.