Radiotherapy. Day one.

So LeeAnne took me to my first radiotherapy session.
She nearly followed me into the room with the big laser machine and the lying down platform with the slightly disturbing arm holding apparatus in the centre of the room.

'You won't want to see my tits', I told her, 'they were never much to write home about, and now they don't even match. One of my puppies has a wonky nose and a dent in his forehead'.

The radiologists were so young and shiny and happy.
Really shiny. Like they were made of apples or something.
And I wondered what drugs they were on.
Very attentive, never looking away from your face, as tho one glance at your slightly mangled boob might break the spell, perhaps like a Dorian Gray painting, they would start to become old and wonky nosed.
After a small period of adjusting me, the lovely radiologists left the room in order to turn the laser beams on. They turned the music up so I'd have something to listen too.

It was The Cure.