Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Liking Flies

I have now gone and laid on the radiation table three times, each time thinking it would be better than the last. Each time reminding myself that everyone says radiation is so much easier than chemotherapy. And I suppose when I'm no longer filled with disgust and loathing for radiation therapy, I'll most likely agree with that. But for now...I have to tell you...I think I actually like the fly that's buzzing around my kitchen right now more than I like having radiation.

For those of you that can't believe I actually have a housefly on my A list now, I know...I can't believe it myself. I'm pretty sure I haven't lost my mind, but let me tell you what radiation is like, just in case. Unless of course, you really don't care, then I wouldn't read on. Otherwise...

Number one is easy: Try laying on a table. A table, not a bed. Hard and flat, huh?
Number two is a little more complicated: Imagine your armpit is now made of scar tissue, scar tissue that is connected to not-scar tissue. Now strike a pose by raising your arm (ouch) until your elbow is practically (ouch) behind your head and hold it there (ouch) for ten minutes without moving at all.
Three: While you are enjoying this position, a huge metal "camera lens" robot thing the size of a tire will come within inches of your face and everyone in the room will leave and stand behind these six inch metal doors while it starts shooting scary-whatever-radiation-is stuff at your body. You're really hoping it misses your lungs and your arm because you're rather fond of breathing and you really don't want your arm to blow up to the size of Fat Albert's (lymphedema).
Number four: Everyone comes back in the room and peels you off the table because you can hardly move a muscle after being frozen like that for ten minutes...they promise you next time will be better and then you hobble back to the dressing room to change out of your gown.

Now, take your newly sunburned self home to George (your fly friend) and taunt him with the sweet smell of aloe vera gel. Repeat every day for six weeks.


  1. Rose! That is not good! It must mean that the radiation is really awful because I don't know anyone that like flies at all! I really enjoy your sense of humor throughout all of this. You are such a teacher!

    Also, thanks for going to lunch a few weeks ago. It was so great to see you and Mark and the kids. We need to do it more often, don't we? Gracie sends you a crocked smile and a cute little noise...she is getting so big and so alert and fun!

    We love you!

  2. I am sorry you are having to go through all of this. Can I just say something? Why is it that all obscure animal friends/pets are named George? I smiled when you mentioned the fly named George. My first fish wasn't liked at first by my mom, then at the end of one day she was suddenly calling him George. I guess even the most unwanted animals can wiggle their way into our hearts - and end up being named George.
    Keep your chin up...tell George hello from us.

  3. I am so sad, I didn't even know you had surgery! This is my first visit to your blog, now I will be a good neighbor and check in more often! I better come bring you a treat!

  4. Rosemary thanks for remembering my "anniversary" I am still trying to decide if this is something I want to remember or forget! Good Luck with your treatments--sounds extremely fun! I'll call you.

  5. Dwayne has a geiger (spelling?) counter. I am
    curious as to your readings after your radiation treatment. All kidding aside, hoping this passes quickly for you. Anna-Marie