Mid-way point

Yesterday was session 17 out of 34 - and so unless I'm mistaken I've done half of it. The radiographers keep on telling me the main treatment will end next week, which it will, but it still leaves eight boost sessions which require daily trips to the hospital. And this, for me, is more important than whether I'm getting general or local treatment. I'm bored with these trips really. The problem is that you have to give yourself plenty of time to get there, which means having to wait there without taking into account the delays - 1 1/2 hours so far this week.

Still, the waiting room has been proving quite entertaining. I tend to sit with the same people if I can so I'm usually with this elderly Italian couple - whom I don't really understand as their accent is quite marked. Anyway on Monday I was treated to a conversation with the man - who's getting treatment - about how he wish there were more male radiographers as he didn't like exposing his 'bits' to the women. He said he wouldn't have minded had he been younger - *wink wink* - but that now there was nothing to be proud of. His wife was happily giggling next to him and I really had no idea what to say to him. I think this shows how all the prodding by oncologists, specialists of all sorts and radiographers makes you realise that your body is nothing but skin, tissue and bone. There was also some discussion yesterday about the water older men have to drink before they have their treatment. I think they have to drink at least two cups. A lot of them pull a face when drinking the water which is provided as it's lukewarm. Two of them started having a chat as to what they'd like to add to it - whiskey being the favourite. They were giggling like naughty school children and the radiographer who came to get them had to put up with this for a wee while. I was sitting next to another couple yesterday and the husband, who is getting treated, started telling me how drinking all this water often meant that he desperately needed the toilet on his way home. His wife joined in and started having a rant about the removal of urinals, which ended up in her saying that her husband ought to relieve himself on the street 'cos she would if it were her, man'. I'm starting to see why people miss the waiting room once they've completed treatment - you meet people who are going through the same thing, who are very open and funny, and who share their experiences with you. It's a bit like a support group without pretending to be one so that unexpected things and conversations often take place. Not sure I'm making any sense but it's a good thing.

Rambling over and time for me to get ready. Hope you're all well.