Tomorrow is radiotherapy.

From the experience of others, I’ve heard it’s not a difficult process: Go in. Lay down. Get Radiated. Leave. And that was a relief to hear, but not entirely relieving. Tomorrow is radiotherapy, which means tomorrow I’ll start another bout of hospital visits and another therapy that could possibly give me more cancer in fifteen to twenty years time. Okay, so it is a small possibility, but nevertheless . . . (wouldn’t it be nice if there was a medical therapy that wouldn’t possibly give me cancer in fifteen, twenty, thirty years time? Yes. It would be nice.)

And this will help kill any lingering cancer cells in the right chest area.

It is my great and ardent hope that at this moment there are no cancer cells remaining. All the cancer cells have vacated the body, with my recovering immune system accompanying them to the door. Good bye and good riddance. But, if there are some lingering little buggers who think they’ve escaped – I have a message for you:

DIE.

And leave me alone.

I’ve never wished death on any person, nor would I – and I certainly don’t wish it upon myself. But sometimes we need to be tough; we need to survive (think animal kingdom and our omnivore roots). And cancer isn’t a person, it’s a disease. Besides, I’m feeling a bit shitty about having to do radiotherapy – so funnelling that frustration into some anger bullets for cancer-hunting is constructive.

BANG! goes the cancer.

At least, that’s what I’m aiming for.

…

Frig. I’m still freaking nervous.  Frig. Frig. Frig.