Radiotherapy

Sometimes as I lay on the radiotherapy 'bed' I used to cry. I was laying there, naked to the waist, with my arms above my head, carefully positioned using laser lights lined up with the tatoos they gave me, and I wasn't allowed to move. Everyone else had to leave the room - they had amazing mental arithmetic skills - and they'd all rush out. It's odd to be experiencing something that everyone else can't because it would harm their health. Strange, yes?

And so I would lie there - listening to the music. Because they always had CDs playing - which was so nice. But I fear I will never be able to listen to the Coldplay X&Y album without being transported back to that place; the same goes for some REM songs. And so, I would lie there, tears rolling down my face and into my ears because I couldn't move to wipe them. And I couldn't make a sound and I couldn't *cry* cry, because I couldn't move my body - not to shudder, not to shiver, not to weep.

And sometimes I would be shuddering because it was so cold in there. The machines like it cold and so I would be absolutely shaking with the cold and wishing desperately for a hot flush. I don't know how the radiographers stood it - their hands would be freezing cold as they touched me - moving me around, manipulating me into the right position. They were all, without exception, lovely to me. Another collection of lovely New Zealanders - male and female - plus some others. The names have faded but the faces stay in my memory.

So, sometimes I listen to the music that takes me back there - I don't know why. I like to torture myself and live in the past I suppose.