As per my weekday ritual, I empty my bladder at 11:00 and then start drinking to fill it up again. It usually kind of works to have a full bladder for my 1:15 appointment with Truebeam, the radiology automaton.

I arrive at 1:05 with a full bladder to find a sign that says “All appointments are running 30 minutes late.” Well that pissed me off, so to speak. My choice was to go relieve myself and start again (causing my appointment to be even later) or hang in there. So I paced a bit, distracted myself and did ok. Kay finally came out to get me.

I walk up to the computer control desk area, tell them my name and birth date, verify that the picture on the monitor is me, and go into the room with one plan: get on the table, get a gazillion rads of radiation throughout my pelvic girdle, and be on a toilet within eight minutes.

There is an older woman in the room, I don’t know who she is, and I start to get on the table.

You can’t get on like that.

What the fuck? Who is this woman and what is her problem? Does she even work here? Does she have a name? A clue?

You need to remove your pump, you can’t get on with your belt like that. You need to lower your pants.

I stood there dumbfounded, staring at her. But alas, dumbfounded for about five seconds. Unfortunately my filters kicked in.

I’ve been doing this for 22 days, I am getting on the damn table.

And I did as usual. Lowering my pants, etc. as always, once I am on the table. Then Kay came in. They positioned me and for some reason there was a problem with the position and the pre-scan imaging took a bit longer than usual. Finally I heard the lovely sound of Truebeam doing that Godzilla atomic breath thing. Two 45-second scans, I pull up my skivvies, pull up my pants, hop off the table, and on my way to the toilet I quietly say to Kay, “That other woman is a moron.”

Cancer should not be this difficult.