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Well, I got it. I got my ticket to the ball! I had my first laser light show this afternoon. Unfortunately I was lying face down with my head in that pillow and missed the whole thing. But I was there, Baby! In the room. Center stage. VIP.

I started the day later than I planned. I woke up at 6:45 to Dan shuffling around the room. It was fine. I really didn’t need to get up at 6, but I wanted enough time to get my coffee and shower, walk around the park and play with the kids for a while before I took off for the week. I still did all that, but it went too fast.

I had to walk out to the dock. The river was glass. My Survivor Tree reflected in the surface. I watched a fella in his boat across the way catch . . .catch . . . Oh, the bottom. Sorry guy. There were not one, but two seals. Red letter day!

K, my husband’s tile helper, lives across the way with her husband in a toy hauler. She took the kids in her car and followed me to the day care. (I have to find a back seat for the work van while I am in the city.) Day Care is an understatement. The cheapest and most convenient child care we could find for the kids was at the casino in town, believe it or not. They have a special for local working people. Special is still expensive for three kids. K will be taking the kids to day care in the morning and then going on to work. Since they don’t open until nine, this will help Dan get to the job before the banks open. The Play Palace is a tiny amusement park. The kids will be too busy to miss me too much. Still it was hard to slip away.

The drive up went faster this time. I was on auto pilot I guess. I made it to town 45 minutes early and was able to check in to the hotel before my treatment. I unloaded everything on the bed and headed across the street.

I park the old van out pretty far where there are plenty of open spots. That means there is plenty of open parking lot to cross before getting to the door. I was nervous. Half way across, I gave myself a talking to. Stand tall. Shoulders back. Courage front. Walk in there with pride, girl. Humph. I can do this. I’m doing this. As I opened the door and took a step inside, I remembered that I forgot my book. I need my book now! I have to go get my book. Out I went and halfway back across, I heard myself say, “Chicken.”

Now, I told you the other day that I wasn’t sure I was still sane. And that doubt grew some there in the parking lot. See, I have always been told that talking to yourself is ok, but if you start answering back, you’re in trouble.

“I’m not chicken. I need my book.”

“You know you won’t have time to read that book, it’s just about 1:00 now.”

“Shut up.”

OK, I’m in trouble, right?

The lady in the lobby just smiled when I came back in. I got the picture she has seen people turn around and run before. I smiled back and walked across to the Radiation Oncology Department. It was 1:00 on the nose. “I said shut up.”

I stepped up to the check in desk and announced myself to the same woman who checked me in last time. “Hi, I’m Teresa.” “Yes, I remember.” (She must have heard about the peep show last week.) “You don’t have to check in anymore. When you come in just wave and go on back to the waiting room inside.”

“I guess I am part of the club now, huh? Membership has it’s privileges.”

She showed me where the gowns were again, as if I could forget, and told me to get undressed and in the gown and have a seat. She pointed out the camera in the corner. “When the techs see you sitting ready, they will come and get you.” Great. More cameras.

Sure enough, the moment my swollen hiney hit the seat, out popped a peeper. This one was new to me. She said she had been out last week, but she heard all about it. I’m sure she did. I followed her, and the rat who told her about my display of Thursday last, to yet another control room where she showed me the screens that would, once again, monitor and record the entire session.

“Just for control purposes, can you please tell me your date of birth.”

I did. “Ok, great.” I passed I guess.

“Next can you please tell me the location of your tumor.”

Wait, shouldn’t I have been the one to ask her that? I mean if she didn’t know the spot she was about to radiate, than I really was trouble!

“My tumor is . . . On my . . . Rear.”

Evidently, I passed again. I think she just wanted to hear me say it out loud. But I played along never the less. Next, I was shown through a door that could have been any door in any nuclear power plant. Six feet wide and a foot thick. Nothing was getting through that door. The room behind it was labeled “The Tropical Room.”

“Tropical room. I heard about this place from the club charter. This is where you get sun burnt.”

They must have heard that one before. The same horseshoe shaped pillow for my face and triangular shaped pillow for my ankles were ready for me on yet another slab. I looked around, but I saw no tube. Phweew.

As soon as the techs got a view of the tumor, they knew that it had grown in the four days since my last photo session. “It grows everyday. Everyday I wake up and it’s bigger.” They called in the doctor and he agreed. Fortunately, the radiation machine was also able to take CT like scans and they could adjust the plan in the computer accordingly.

“Teresa, we are going to take some pictures now.”

“If I get anymore pictures taken of my naked backside, I am going to have to change what I write under “occupation” from housewife to something my mother is not going to be happy about.”

Snap, Snap. Oh well. Sorry Mother.

All the picture taking took over an hour. In between sessions, one or the other lovely ladies would come in and rub my back and tell me that I was doing great. I really wasn’t doing anything, but I didn’t tell them that. The back rubs felt great.

“Could you talk in a Swedish accent when you do that?”

“What was that?”

“Never mind.”

Then it was time. “Teresa, we are going to give you your treatment now. It will take just a few minutes to program. You will hear a beep sound, but you won’t feel anything.”

I wasn’t feeling anything. Nothing in my hands and feet, both were numb from holding the position for so long. I wasn’t feeling my face either. I just knew that I would get up and have a ring around my face. I was starting to argue with myself again.

“Check this out, your face is in this toilet seat and your butt is in the air.”

“Shut. Up.”

Then there was the buzz. It was one long noooooooooote. Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzz. It was like a lady bumble bee chorus come to the show. It was fine entertainment. The first minute. Then it dropped an octave and became every mosquito that ever buzzed in my ear. But it was treatment. Finally. I was glad to be there.

“This is it. This is what we have been praying for. The laser light show has begun.”

“Yah, and you’re face down in the pillow. Your gonna missing it all.”

“Oh, your right. Dern.”

But I didn’t. I soaked up every ray. Die sucker. Die. It was the Calvary coming to the rescue. The big guns blaring at the enemy. Re-enforcement for the battle. The battle for my life.

When it was all over and I stood up, I was a bit dizzy. I don’t know if it was the treatment or just being in the same position for an hour and a half. I had to sit back down for a minute to get my bearings. Wow. This is it. This is radiation-day 1. One down.

Still in my gown, I was led into an exam room to talk to the nurse. She started telling me how to care for my skin, do’s and don’ts. I stopped her and said that I didn’t have my notebook - it was still in the locker with my clothes. She took out a note pad and started writing each item down for me. When she got to the end of her paper, I suggested she should have a sheet made up with all these thing on it.

“Well, I do mostly. I have one for the chest and one for the abdomen and one for…”

“But you don’t have one for the butt do you?”

“No, ah, I ah . . .well we just don’t . . . it‘s not very common . . .”

“Don’t see many tumors on the butt do you?” hahahah poor girl. She was most embarrassed. “It’s ok. I am an uncommon person with an uncommon tumor in an uncommon spot.”

“I went on the internet and still didn’t find instructions for this kind of skin problem. I guess I could just print out what I have written here.”

“You never know when your gonna come across another Butt Cheek Cancer. I’ll just take your notes, dear. It’s ok.”

Dr G came in to talk next. He said that they would watch the size closely. It should stop growing, but if it doesn’t they would change the treatment to twice a day.

“Fast growing tumors respond better to radiation.”

OK, let’s go with that.

Tomorrow’s treatment is at 10:30 in the morning. This time I can just walk across the street. After that, I hope to be able to make a visit to the American Cancer Society. I was told that they may be able to help me with the day care costs. That would be lovely. I’ll let you know.