Entry 5 in the colorectal cancer blog journal "I've Got a Mass in My Ass".
Turns out radiation therapy is like Petro Points: if you're a regular customer you get a bonus. Tomorrow was supposed to be my 25th and final radiation therapy session, but I was informed this week that they're giving me five additional "boosts", which I assume from the terminology is like the radiation version of a king can of Red Bull. In any event, it's a much better deal than Petro Points, which redeem a container of windshield washer fluid for something like every $10,000 of gasoline purchased.
No shit (or none that I've seen)
Despite media reports of sewage backing up in the new hospital, I can happily report that my experience at the Glen site has been fecal matter-free. I'm a big fan of the facility, which has massive windows all around that help create a bright, positive atmosphere that's the antithesis of some of the older hospitals, which are sufficiently depressing that they could be used as a set for a sequel to Jacob's Ladder. Whomever books the entertainment at the hospital also deserves kudos. In the past two weeks, a five piece brass band has played Christmas carols from the floor overlooking the cafeteria, and patients in the oncology ward waiting room have been regaled with festive favorites by a women's quartet and a flutist. I requested side one of Jethro Tull's Thick as a Brick from the girl with the flute, and was rewarded with a blank stare and crickets.
I've mentioned in previous posts that I'm able to make light of being ill because I got an early diagnosis and a positive prognosis, but the gravity of this insidious disease is not to be underestimated. Last week, a young woman with whom I worked at KIC Country radio passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. Kristen Maither was sweet as sugar and tough as nails. She smiled through pain and exuded humility and gratitude in the most adverse circumstances. It was a privilege to know her. Godspeed, Kristen.