So Not Rad

I have met with radiation oncology.

I felt like a dead man walking - to an electrocution - even though they have not yet begun.

Today, I had to get "fitted" and "tattooed" - or rather prepped for the big zaps.

Three women dressed in white hospital jackets with hospital ID's stand nearby, quiet. No introductions. They appear too old to be regular college students. I wonder who they are .

It's unnerving - there isn't a smile among them. Muted. I'm reassured by the nurse in charge, that today is "JUST a planning" day. - that today is easy.

A huge white doughnut looking imaging machine greets me. It's mouth open.

A movable gurney is set and prepped for me.

"Like a massage table"

But it isn't.

I'm ordered to climb onto the table, and as agile as I am, I wonder how others with less capability can easily get on.

Face down.

I am to place my face within the center of an airline type neck roll.

"We'll provide oxygen for you" And a tube is attached and oxygen is pumped toward me.

I think of the Oxygen Bars in Vegas - and tell myself to pretend that this is a spa experience.

They tell me to get comfortable.

Comfort - on a hard table.

I lift my head and joke that they need memory foam.

They explain that I need to hold on to handles - and get into a position that I can hold...

for at least thirty minutes.

However, I say, this position isn't

COMFORTABLE.

She says it isn't supposed to be.

I lift my head and explain with my fists -

"It's like this - the table, and my rib cage - don't jive."

She tells me that whatever position I'm in when they create the mold, etc., I must stay in for thirty minutes at a time. So it must be

COMFORTABLE.

"Right. But this won't work."

She has a brainstorm and realizes that she should move the handles, so I can move my face, so I can move my ribcage. Much better.

How many people remain quiet - and

UNCOMFORTABLE?

They position me.

Tell me to RELAX my shoulders. Can you tell I'm tense? Yesterday was shoulder day, too.

They create a cradle mold of my arms.

"Lift your arms, but not your head"

Supermans - like at the gym.

I lift.

They slide a warm plastic bagged substance under my arms.

Wrapping the bag over the sides.

It's cold in the room, so this warmth feels good.

Like a spa.

I breathe in the cool oxygen.

"Stay perfectly still"

I'm slid into the doughnut.

And the machinations of the machine commence. They need music, I think.

And start to recall a song ... "Days go by, I'm hypnotized I'm walking on a wire I close my eyes and fly out of my mind

Into the fire" It's the guitar licks that I try to focus on. My eyes are closed.

And I am flying out of my mind.

Into the this fire.

I'm out of the doughnut - but told not to move.

That they must use a marker to draw lines on me.

Marks - so they can recall within a millimeter how to position me again. They await info from the Wizard of Oz -

This is what I call the docimeter -

As he must do calculations behind a door that will determine the radiation's target.

With an okay, they begin...

Circle, circle, circle. Line. Line. Circle.

I count six marks.

And then, "We have to tattoo you."

It's just a little prick.

I think of the Pink Floyd Song... "Just a little pinprick"

And then, I'm done.

Back in the changing room, I note circles on my body,

drawn in a Leprechaun green. So not my color. A nurse comes in to talk - as I'm scrubbing the marker from my ribcage.

She offers to help - and uses rubbing alcohol to remove the tell tale signs. I suggest that they should remove these embellishments BEFORE the patient leaves the room.

Like, who really wants to walk around with radiation targets on her body? So not rad.

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