Wednesday, February 24, 2010


i've got the routine down now: get up, let once-again-annoying little Cancer Dog out, get dressed etc. (but no deoderant is allowed. i might possibly burst into flames, but i don't really know that), let Cancer Dog in, feed Cancer Dog, drive to radiation, drop off car at valet parking, scan my id card, change into hospital gown and donated crocheted hat, lie under big scary machine, change into clothes, wait for car, drive to school.

today, though, my routine was thrown off slightly as there was a woman in a wheelchair waiting for radiation outside the changing room when i came back from being irradiated. she was wearing a hat just like mine, so she was obviously a cancer patient, and an inpatient because she had a wristband. she was a large woman, with a large personality. she spoke to all of the hospital staff as they went by, very friendly and jovial. they were very nice to her. therefore, i am sure she is dying. i know this because in every movie, the bigger-than-life, friendly, positive, outgoing patient whom everyone likes is always doomed.

i said a noncommital "hi" on my way into the changing room, to which she barely responded. being friendly to the staff is a matter of survival; i am irrelvant. i hid in the changing room until she was gone.

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