Before I start this section, can I apologise if there are any spelling mistakes. The Spell Checker is dreadful, it must have been bought from Aldi's Middle Section.
When I was first told I needed Radiotherapy, it filled me with dread. Did I have to listen to Chris Evans all day or something? I had never researched it, but it sounded a lot better to say than Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy sounded a lot easier and a bit James Bond..ish. I had to attend a Clinic appointment with a number of dignitaries. I was pleased to see that the actual dentist wasn't there. He's the only one that tells me off for not cleaning my teeth properly or not doing by mouth stretching exercises. I do them but you should see the looks I get in Tesco.
My Consultant goes first and tells me that I need the treatment to get rid of a few remaining cancer cells...I wish he'd call them problem cells, well actually, he doesn't even call them cancer cells. He gives them their proper medical names, which even Boris Johnson's Latin Tutor would struggle with. Then I'm spoken to by another doctor from Radiology. She goes through all of the problems I will have whilst undergoing the treatment. Whatever procedure you are having done, you never really take any notice of the effects of treatment. I mean, how do you prepare or of any idea of mouth ulcers? It's a bit like telling a pregnant lady that child birth might sting a bit. You can't prepare for jt.
I now get ushered into another room to see a nurse who will go through the practicalities of treatment. To the right of her is the weirdest looking mask on a table. It has the impression of a face and shoulders. I'm guessing that she is going fencing after work (not garden fence constrhction, but with "en guarde" and epée's). She tells me about the areas they will be targeting and about the importance of not losing weight. (I makes a mental note, to add chocolate sprinkles to my ice cream at breakfast).
She then gets up and moves towards her fencing mask, if I'd had known, I would have taken lessons. She holds it up to her face, I look around for a weapon. "This is what you will be wearing during Radiotherapy" ...Yeh right. I have some perfectly good designer sunglasses, thank you very much. But she seems serious. I'm to have a moulded of impression done of my face. It helps the Radiographers target the right areas. The last time I was anything as hideous as this was when I studied the instruments of torture during the Tudor years.
I don't take much of the remaining chat in. I have to go for a fitting next week. I also have to be clean shaven. This means I have to try and shave off the ginger and grey clumps which have grown around the scars. I still haven't really looked at the scars on my neck, but I have cornered the market in rather fetching polo necked jumpers. I
I'm given some booklets to read up on all aspects of Radiotherapy. Like all the others, I don't really read them. I don't need to. I will sail through it. I still have this feeling that I don't need Radiotherapy. Surely they got it all in Theatre. But there is no option. I drive back home. I get stuck at the traffic lights on the main road. I do my mouth exercises whilst I'm waiting. The chap in the next car is staring at me. Has he never seen anyone saying vowels in an exaggerated manner before? As I drive back, I look at people walking along, others driving home from work. I think how lucky there are not to have cancer. They are going about their business without a care in the world. I feel like the only person going through this. For the first time since my diagnosis, that mask has made me realise I have Cancer. For the first time, I'm scared.....
