Before I kill you...
Whew. So, my delightful ordeal with radiation treatment is over, hopefully for good. The fun part is, the gadget freak and science fiction fan in me thought the whole thing was super-cool, even if it did make me sick and fatigued and all that other boring stuff.
When you go in for this stuff, they like to hit only the parts of you that need hitting (this is good, as it means that, among other things, I am not bald as I write this). So what they do is: on your first visit, they put you on a hard, uncomfortable table while they draw a bunch of gridlines on your torso with Sharpies. Then they turn on the LASERS. That's right, pal, the LASERS.
Lasers are shot into this room (which also contains a big, spinning, radiation machine) from multiple spots along the room's periphery to align with the grid on your bod. I tell you, it is just like the scene in the James Bond movie where the villain has Bond strapped to the hard, uncomfortable table, with a high-powered cutting laser slowly working its way down the table towards his crotch. Seriously, exactly like that. There were even henchmen and a really fast sports car. Okay, maybe that was in the part where I drifted off, but still!
This initial visit takes, like, half an hour of lying on the hard, uncomfortable table while they take films and get all the targeting computers locked in. By then all your limbs are asleep and/or cramped. Then they put clear plastic bandages over the Sharpie marks to protect them. "Try not to wash these off. See you in a week for your first treatment!"
The actual zapping is pretty perfunctory. You go to a big room that smells like ozone (a different room, with a different spinning radiation thing but still the LASERS, man). You recline on the hard, uncomfortable table for about four minutes. They tie your feet together and place lead shields around your naughty bits (see, just like Bond). There is a loud buzz and more ozone, and they send you home. If you are me, you throw up occasionally (later).
Yep, I've been the subject of a laser-guider targeting system. I feel *so* atomic age.
When you go in for this stuff, they like to hit only the parts of you that need hitting (this is good, as it means that, among other things, I am not bald as I write this). So what they do is: on your first visit, they put you on a hard, uncomfortable table while they draw a bunch of gridlines on your torso with Sharpies. Then they turn on the LASERS. That's right, pal, the LASERS.
Lasers are shot into this room (which also contains a big, spinning, radiation machine) from multiple spots along the room's periphery to align with the grid on your bod. I tell you, it is just like the scene in the James Bond movie where the villain has Bond strapped to the hard, uncomfortable table, with a high-powered cutting laser slowly working its way down the table towards his crotch. Seriously, exactly like that. There were even henchmen and a really fast sports car. Okay, maybe that was in the part where I drifted off, but still!
This initial visit takes, like, half an hour of lying on the hard, uncomfortable table while they take films and get all the targeting computers locked in. By then all your limbs are asleep and/or cramped. Then they put clear plastic bandages over the Sharpie marks to protect them. "Try not to wash these off. See you in a week for your first treatment!"
The actual zapping is pretty perfunctory. You go to a big room that smells like ozone (a different room, with a different spinning radiation thing but still the LASERS, man). You recline on the hard, uncomfortable table for about four minutes. They tie your feet together and place lead shields around your naughty bits (see, just like Bond). There is a loud buzz and more ozone, and they send you home. If you are me, you throw up occasionally (later).
Yep, I've been the subject of a laser-guider targeting system. I feel *so* atomic age.