TWO MORE DAYS!

October 12, 2009

Just two more days of radiation until I can kiss the daily slog up to Swedish Medical Center GOODBYE! Despite the fact that I have made the trip no fewer than 30 times in the past six weeks, I still find myself bolting out of here at 2:05 p.m., having realized only moments before that my appointment time is looming. Luckily I've never been late, and my machine -- the "Precision" (not to be confused with the "Synergy" down the hall) -- seems to be running on time most days.

Here are a few things I'm going to miss:

• Angela, the receptionist at the main entrance to the Swedish Cancer Center building; and T0ny, the security guard. They are possibly two of the friendliest people I have ever met.
  Bria and Sharon – my two favorite radiation therapists (even though I vowed not to get attached to any “cancer people.)
  
• The free parking spaces set aside especially for radiation patients. I feel so privileged when I pull in, toss my parking pass on my dashboard and breeze past all the other unfortunate folks driving around the block looking for street parking.
  
• A forced break in the middle of the day.

And here are some things I am NOT going to miss:

• The seemingly never-ending construction work going on at Virginia Mason just around the corner from Swedish. This hospital was under renovation seven years ago when I was going up to Swedish on a bi-weekly basis for pregnancy complications. I have to believe it’s been going on ever since. Every day is a new traffic configuration around the site.
  
• The annoying panhandler at the Denny/Dexter exit off Highway 99. He won’t let you off the hook until you make eye contact. There’s only so much fiddling with the radio one can do.
  
• The McDonalds on Madison Street that I drive by on my way home every day. Just because I don’t eat there anymore doesn’t mean I don’t WANT TO. ALL. THE. TIME!
  
• Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Nosy and Mr. Know-It-All. These three not-so fine fellows are usually in the waiting room about the same time I am. It’s pretty unusual for anyone in the quiet waiting room to be talking to each other (probably because we’re all in some sort of goofy medical gown), so their conversations/outbursts tend to offend like a fart in church. Mr. Grumpy can barely stand it that his machine is “always” late. Calming words from the receptionist and various medical personnel who are unlucky enough to pass by during one of his tirades can say nothing to appease him. His machine is “always broken,” he always has to sit around “for hours,” and “these people should do something about it.” Mr. Nosy is that overly-friendly guy you try to avoid in social settings, except in the waiting room there’s nowhere to hide. I have seen him assault other patients with the full run-down of his medical condition (prostate cancer) and subsequent treatment (radioactive seed implants), and last Wednesday my luck ran out. He plops down next to me with a “So how you doing, young lady?” and without waiting for an answer, plunges into a detailed description of how his doctor planted “little GPS trackers” in his prostate. TMI, dude. Mr. Know-It-All is actually not a patient but the husband of a woman who comes in for daily radiation treatment. I’ve been able to avoid him so far, but I’ve been privileged to listen in on his enlightening conversations with other patients. As I was coming out of the changing room the other day, I caught the tail end of one: “Yep! And the waiting room upstairs is full of young women going through treatment! And I know exactly what put them there!” Well, what a genius! Care to share? Apparently not, as he switched gears and started yapping about his yacht when he saw me.
  
• Getting home five minutes too late to pick Oliver up at the walking bus stop.

Cancer, it’s been an interesting nine months to say the least, but I’m moving on.

And as usually, I’m running late for my appointment. Gotta go!