It was close to a replay of the rad treatments I had to my chest/lung tumor. Two of the original Radionettes were there (See Day Three), and two had moved on to other afterglow pursuits. I was again offered a choice of music to be played during the session, but this time I opted out.
I thought of requesting “If I Only Had A Brain,” but I didn’t want to add sublime to the sublime.
No, for some reason, this time I wanted the pure deal: unfettered, no distractions, no place to file my fear, no easy-out refocuses. Nothing but me and the slow-revolving click-humming appendages of the linear accelerator.
Strapped, wrapped, mapped, tapped and zapped.
Now, here I am. Next day. At breakfast with Diane:
Diane: I have rhyming names for your brain tumor: either Cerebellar Fella, or Cerebellar Stella, if it's a girl.
Me: Uh ... but, how will I know if it's male or female?
Diane: Same way you know if I'm male or female.
Me: Bacon with your eggs this morning?
In two months, we’ll have another MRI look and see if Fella or Stella died for my country. Meanwhile, we’ll be starting another round of immuno- AND chemotherapy, with concurrent infusions every three weeks times four of Keytruda, Carboplatin and Pemetrexed.
It must be obvious to you that I’ve been blessed with a brilliant metaphor for a cancer baseball season with my personal shortstop Tinker Keytruda flipping it to second base Evers Carboplatin throwing a strike over to first base Chance Pemetrexed on defense.
Looks like I’ll have to play offense a while longer.
More as we go, El