… it was all over in less the five minutes.
Granted, there was the pre-radiotherapy chat. An opportunity to ask how effective the treatment is, how long this single session would last and were reports of two years of fatigue to follow likely to be accurate. More like two days for a single blast. Given the circumstances I’d have been rather pleased with two years.
Into the changing room. Lower kit off. I needn’t have worried about my undies. Medical gown on. My thorough dislike of this item of clothing recalled as I’m led down a corridor with my partially exposed rear hanging out. I’m glad I’ve not used the constipation medicine today!
Then into a room, onto the table. A machine similar in look to a CT scanner. Adjustments made to my positioning. Ruler out. No giggles from the female staff, so I assume that’s average. Then off they trot and a bit of buzzing. Then half way through the machine changes position and buzzes again.
All the action took about five minutes. Dressed. Coffee shop. Home.
The last two items there became complex. The coffee shop burned my toastie. It was returned and took an age to be replaced. I observed numerous hospital staff queuing and pondered how many patients suffer daily as a result of coffee shop inefficiency in serving nursing staff.
And then a ninety minute drive home. The wonder of some the nation’s frailest patients sat in uncomfortable transport in one of the nation’s most populated areas and wondering if I should have been seen closer to home.
I am, for now, pain free. Let’s see what the night throws at me before getting complacent though. Today’s gig shouldn’t benefit for a couple of days yet.