Tattoo

Well, today's delights involved having a mask made for my radiotherapy. Basically, they have to make a mould of your face in order to ensure that they zap the same spot every time they hit you with radio waves. I was invited into a room by two extremely thin and decidedly odd Antipodean women who proceeded to shift and shuffle me about this guerney, and then placing a mask over my face which moulded itself into a facsimile of my features. They got wrong it first time, but that was okay, because it was a remarkably peaceful process and I wasn't anticipating pain. In the end it looks look a fencing mask. So far, so good. Then it all got a bit    S & M. I went for a CT scan and was pinned to the guerney. I've got this gimp mask on which they then screw down onto the bench, making it hard to breath, pin your shoulders down with some sort of metal restraint and proceed to tattoo your chest.

Okay, it was only a dot that they use to get their bearings, but creepy as all fuck at the time and this mark will last forever. Not the tat that I would have chosen, but hey ho.

Today's upside is that  I now have my cancer mask that I get to keep, and my suspicions about Antipodean women have been confirmed, especially those that work for the NHS.

Today's downside is that the Senior Radiographer, Rebecca, tells me that the mouth hell that was due will occur far sooner than they've been letting on. More like week and half  - two weeks. On top of that, the fallout from the happy dental stuff yesterday is already in the post and I'm running short of morphine. Got a meeting with Richard Oakley, the charming consultant so hopefully he can prescribe some more.

Good stuff - ran into Oran this evening, always a pleasure.

Civilised chat tomorrow followed by MRI scan Friday and visit to Nutritionist which is a euphemism for peg stuck into my navel for inrtavenous feeding. Yum yum.

Stay tuned for more cancer quips.