I’m sitting in the “Fish Room” at Radiant Care in Lacey waiting for a nurse to appear and call out, “Alec” or more likely”John.” There seem to be somewhere between six and a dozen nurses, and I haven’t learned any of their names. They know mine because it’s written down as John with a note that I go by Alec. Apparently only two of the nurses got that part of the note.
The Fish Room is a waiting room restricted to patients only, so named because there’s an aquarium. So I sit there five days a week watching the fish swim until I’m called. The wait is usually no more than three-to-five minutes. I have a favorite fish. He is blue with black markings and a bright yellow tail. I’ve named him Bluey. That’s what my son would have named him when he was six years old. He’s forty-six now. Bluey swims up and down and up and down, and then darts down to the other end and back.
I follow the nurse (one of only two who calls me Alec) into the control room where she asks me the same question every day, Monday through Friday. “What’s your birthday?” I give her the same answer every day, 2-17-43, and she checks the Starship Enterprise controls to confirm and tells me to go on in. I go into where there is something that looks like where they do CT scans, and they position me on the table and put a kind of helmet over my head and put a breathing tube in my mouth and bolt the apparatus in place. There’s another nurse who says, “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me you want to be called Alec?” and “You can call me anything but late for lunch.” And for less than five minutes they bombard my nose with radiation.
It is day two of week four. For the first two and a half weeks, I did not see or feel anything. Then my nose and cheek started turning red, like a mild sunburn. Then I started feeling the heat. Now it’s a bright red and burns. The nurse said it will get worse. Thanks for the warning.
By the way, for a while there was a guy who would pass by me in the Fish Room every day and say, “Piece of cake.” He doesn’t say that anymore.
This is not an easy process for anyone to go thru – but the treatments can let you live a longer life! Hang in there John – – – just kidding Alec!! We miss both of you at the Y – hope you will be amongst us again soon. Hugs!
Thanks.
My doctor has a big aquarium where I can see lots of fish. They are very bright like the ones in your fish room. I’ve been thinking about you and I’m glad to hear that you’re doing semi-good. Best way to get through all of this just laugh And have Gabi give you lots of hugs. Take care I miss your writings. I have to see if any new ones are on Kindle.
I have been in that very room on a daily basis, too, Alec and know you have to dig deep to get thru the last few days. It is definitely not a piece of cake. I literally danced my way out the door on my last day of treatment. Hang in there. I promise it will be a great feeling to get your life back. ????