The idea of radiotherapy to treat cancer goes back to 1934. I’m halfway through my treatment and there’s no particular problems; I just think it’s weird.
For three weeks I have to turn up daily for a 10-minute experience that is pure 1970s Star Trek. I’ve been told that the breast surgery, the chemotherapy and the other lot of surgery have already cleared my body of cancer and so this radiotherapy is just to be totally sure.
The principle seems to be to get my body in exactly the same position every day and then send x-ray type beams to attack the cells near the original site of the tumours. I am now very good at lying completely still and zoning out while a person each side pushes my naked fat overspill around and chants numbers and measurements. With my eyes closed, I appreciate the tone, accent and sound poetry that accompany this science. The best day was when I had a Welshman speaking on my right and an Irishman on my left. Once you are positioned correctly, they leave the room while you get zapped by the machine, which looks like an upside-down round glass and metal Habitat table.
My radiotherapists have been lovely; I was surprised that most so far have been men. The male professionalism that treats a half-naked female body in a detached, matter of fact way whilst at the same time talking warmly to you as a person is great and makes me feel happy. Like a crazy patient in love with her psychotherapist, I have wanted to take a cute radiotherapist home with me on more than one occasion.
Today, though was a really weird radiotherapy session. A different radiographer had put on a CD which played throughout the session. I’m all for using music to relax patients; a bit of Chinese music or Indonesian gamelan does the job, Mozart or Bach maybe or, at a pinch, some light jazz-funk instrumentals.
But the CD in question was ‘Love Ballads’. I lay there with my naked top half exposed, lights off and the machine buzzing and clicking whilst a couple of sexy anthems played. I think it might have been ‘Nights in White Satin’ and I was certainly glad when it reached an end. Afterwards, I got dressed to ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’ by the Righteous Brothers. Too right, I have lost that feeling; I’ve got one breast, a sad excuse for hair and virtually no energy, so, however lovely the radiotherapy men are, nights in white satin are out of the question.