Fork Tender

Tomorrow is my last day of radiation—yeeeeee haaaww! So long, dark and couchy waiting room! Good riddance, jigsaw puzzles! Buh-bye Guiding Light! No longer shall you oppress my weary soul. After tomorrow, I’m outta here, never to return. At least, if I’m lucky, the cancer center will have moved into its new building before my follow-up appointment. Ah, the new building…towering in all its modern glass and brick beauty, only a half block from the current cave of a facility. Oh new bright and beautiful building, how I have longed to take my treatments within your gleaming glass walls! How I have yearned to slip the surly bonds of 1994 décor and touch the face of 2008!


Back to being burnt…the pit healed up just dandy, only to be followed by a big nasty burnt area on my chest. This was quite painful, and as a result, I ditched the bra, which means I ditched the Foob. At Christmas. And there he was, all dressed up like Santa, too. Boy, was he ever mad at me! He’s still not speaking to me, which is just as well, because that phony French accent was really starting to get on my nerves.
And I was in pretty good shape up to about treatment #24, too. It’s really kind of bizarre how fast my skin went from being a little red, but not in bad shape to “Oops, I didn’t make it to the fallout shelter in time.” Dr Haerr said that’s how they used to determine that a person had gotten enough radiation. Apparently you were done when you looked done, or were fork tender. Lucky me! Nowdays, they have a set course of treatment, and I got to keep going even though I definitely look and feel done.

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