9 beeps and clicks. The machine whirs and comes up along my left side. 9 beeps and clicks. The machine hums and changes position again. 12 beeps and clicks. Another whir as the machine continues its slow circle above me. 17 beeps and clicks. The machine moves into its last position on my right side. 9 beeps and clicks. Done.
The radiation machine looks like something out of an Alien movie. A big round lamprey head mounted on an arched white neck. Within the head, a clear window into its radiation-making parts. Inside the window, set deeply back, metal pieces click, whine, and move forward and back, side to side, shaping and channeling the radiation into the parts of me where it’s supposed to go. It reminds me of the shape-shifting murderous puzzle cube in Hellraiser.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel…but it may be ME, glowing brightly in green florescence.
Every day for 5 weeks the pattern of beeps and machine rotation is the same. Counting it out seems to make it go by faster and gives me something to pass the time. I thought I’d use the regularity and structure this daily routine provides to do something productive, like try meditation, or play memory-enhancing games. But, that seemed like too much planning. And, so I count the beeps and patterns. Sometimes my mind wanders as the machine shoots me with imaginary beams of cancer-killing radiation and I lose track of the beeps. I’ll hear click-beep-whir in my sleep for months.
Radiation. A word always associated with dangerous and creepy things—with transformation from something normal and natural to something monstrous, mutated, and malevolent. Deformed humans with no teeth, boiled skin, patchwork hair, and pink toothless children eating unsuspecting vacationers. Bugs the size of RVs picnicking on family pets and humans alike. Godzilla and the cast of associated monsters (Mothra, Gamera and the like) tromping all over Tokyo. The 50-foot woman. Know what they have in common? They were all exposed to radiation. I challenge you to think of one radiation- or nuclear-fallout-related movie that had a happy ending. Good luck.
And, now I’m getting shot full of the stuff every day. While I haven’t turned into a mutant (yet??!), my skin looks like a tanning session gone way wrong. It hurts to swallow. I’m tired (my cells working overtime to turn me into another lifeform?). Feels a bit creepy. Especially since every time the technicians go to zap me, they all retreat to a room very far away and behind a 12-inch thick metal door.
But, this is the last critical step in getting rid of cancer.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel…but it may be ME, glowing brightly in green florescence.