End of radiation days
By Jim Higgins
5/11
Today was my last session—the 44th. I was treated to a FIGHT CANCER t-shirt—I was hoping for a tote bag—and hugs from the staff that got to know me over the last two months. I had to ring the ceremonial cancer bell three times but did not have to buy drinks for everyone. Saying good-bye was more like clearing out your gym locker than Pomp and Circumstance. I return in three months for the PSA test. It’s like waiting for your SAT score. The PSA will tell us if we hit the mark, which I expect we did along with the bladder.
The only complaint I have is how the bladder responds to radiation. It’s like the Trevi Fountain in Rome without the coins. You begin to think you have a bottomless bladder, maybe even an auxiliary bladder like those auxiliary fuel tanks in VW Beetles. You drain the tank—you think—and like Robert Klein’s “I can’t stop my leg,” there it goes again.
During the day you’re like one of those characters on a musical Swiss clock running in and out of the tiny door not just on the hour and half hour but on the quarter hour. At night, you are like a night watchmen trying to sleep on the job only to be awakened every couple of hours with a need to grab your flashlight and rush down the hall. Aside from how this wrecks your daily routine, it simply amazes me that you can fill a swimming pool from a bladder that only hold 16 ounces. But this too will pass (pardon the pun). I was told that as radiation is a cumulative process—like a glove box full of parking tickets—I should expect side effects for a few more weeks.
The big question now is how I am going to fill that 11:30 am hole in my day. Maybe I’ll just drink 16 ounces of water and write about whatever moves me. Stay tuned.
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