Blog Cabin

I’ve had a lot of blogs, like a lot, a lot. It started back when I had cancer. There are only so many times you can tell your most recent doctor’s appointment story to the masses. You have stinking cancer, after all. You’re tired. You just want out of the scratchy wig. You want pajamas and hot cocoa and fur babies and an I Love Lucy marathon. Sitting down for hours long conversations with all of your loved ones isn’t high on your list of things that soothe. Expecting one person to relay your info doesn’t work either. That’s a game of telephone waiting to happen. Cancer and necromancer sound too much alike for my taste. My solution was a newsletter of sorts. I can sit down and type it up for everyone to read at their leisure while I watch the episode where Lucy’s in Cali and lights her fake nose on fire. That newsletter worked so well that it turned into a blog. And, that blog spawned a blog, and so forth. Turns out creative writing blogs are about as interesting as cold oatmeal, but guess what? I still have one. Guess what else? I scraped the bowels of my 2008-2009 blog to bring you this little ditty about the hilarious slapstick comedy of cancer treatment. All we have is laughter, sometimes. It really is good medicine. Enjoy.

I had an appointment with my radiation doctor today. Since radiation doesn’t start until tomorrow, I was confused. Still, I dressed very cute with a trench coat and angora scarf, to boot. First, I get there and have to scan my card. See, for radiation they give you this thing that looks like a credit card and a library card had a baby. You’re supposed to enter, scan, and be seated. That was my intent, except my card wouldn’t scan. Remember the first time you tried to use a curling iron? Getting the hang of looking into the mirror and moving your arms was hard when it all seemed backwards. Well, that was me. I could see the red laser light shining out of the thing that looked like a Walmart scanner. I knew I was supposed to line it up with my bar code. So, why did the laser light move 5 inches to the right or left each time I got my card anywhere near? I reached down to pick up the mounted scanner, thinking I would have more luck moving the scanner to match the card than the other way. That’s when the nonagenarian receptionist decided she’d had enough of me. Apparently, there’s been a rash of stolen scanner thingamabobbers. Maybe they’re hot sellers on the black market. So, I drop the scanner like it’s a lit coal. Meanwhile, dozens of other people are lined up behind me to scan their little cards, too. Heads were shaking. People were doing that weight shift thing from leg to leg. I felt like that guy in the Visa debit card commercial when he tries to use cash. Suddenly, the receptionist grabs the card out of my hand and slides it right into the scanner like nobody’s business. Beep. Done. I was humiliated. This was just the beginning.

Shortly, a nurse appears and tells me that, while radiation doesn’t start until tomorrow, she is there to walk me through the process so I will know exactly what to do every day. Great! This is definitely something I can handle! First, we visit the dressing room. She shows me where my clothes should hang, what can stay, & what has to come with me. I start to fall apart, thinking: clothes stay, purse comes with me, jewelry goes in purse - so jewelry comes with me, coats stay with clothes, but scarves go into purse - so scarves stay with me, pants stay on my body so do not take them off, etc. That’s when I realized my tour guide had been speaking for a full 5 minutes. All I caught was, “After that, stay here and wait for your name to be called.” OK, so I thought she meant stay right here tomorrow, once you have your “what stays and what goes” sorted through. I didn’t know I was supposed to do the stay and go thing right now. It wasn’t until the “Employees Only Past This Point” door hit me in the face that she realized I was still behind her. Ouch! Now Florence Nightingale has to go through the whole dressing room rules monologue again before I realize that I needed to take my clothes off today, as in right now. “Oooooooh, I get it.” That was all I could think of to say! So, back I go to change my clothes, hoping I sorted through the goes vs. stays piles effectively.

I hear my name. Figuring out where the source of a sound is coming from is NOT one of my strong points. I am almost all the way back to the scanner debacle site when someone YELLS at me. It’s the frustrated nurse again. Leaning out of the nose bopping door, she tells me I’m supposed to be following her. This is the part where I should do a great job. It’s time to measure me for radiation. Yet, I decide my life’s work is to make Nurse Grumpy laugh. Why I couldn’t I just be quiet? Here were some of my best lines. “If you let me swing my arm 5 inches to the right, I could start the YMCA for you.” As they were moving my arms and legs all over the place, “Bet you guys are GREAT at the hokie pokie.” My personal favorite as they were photographing me, “Wow, this is like a centerfold. Should I smile?” Yes, that’s right. They took pictures of me, naked, on a cold, hard table. They also drew all over me with a sharpie pen. Now, I’m getting kindergarten level sharpie tattoos that really tickle. While I was trying not to laugh, they were explaining that the pictures and marks were to help line me up right each day. But, I know that deep down inside it was so they could sit around a table at lunch and show their nurse friends pictures of the dumb lady that messed up the scanner, got lost, and wouldn’t stop laughing.

I made it through this terribly embarrassing appointment and have decided never to wear jewelry or a scarf, since all that stay and go stuff is way too confusing. Hopefully I can get my scan card to work. I think the technique is all in the wrist. Do me a favor. If those pictures ever show up on the internet, please remember that I was having a bad day. I accidentally let my inner dork out.