today's radiation

"Okay, Stacy" is how I know they're ready for me.
Mike, the radiation therapist, will call from the hallway to take me to the big laser. I like Mike. He's tall, older and pretty nice. He sees my tits daily for free, so I guess he's going have a certain amount of sweetness.

"I hear Victor was mean to you yesterday," he says smiling. He's referencing when the machine crapped out between position 2 and 3 yesterday and I had to wait.

"Naw, it wasn't so bad." I smile. Whenever he talks about Victor, the other technician, I get that 2-second flash "Who-Victor? My ex-Victor?" I know he's talking about the other tech guy in the room, but the only other Victor I know served a quick 7-month stint as my husband three years ago.

That's interesting.

If we'd stayed together, we would have just celebrated our third anniversary this past spring. And I would have had cancer ever since.

Weird.

...sometimes it seems surreal to me. *I* have cancer. *I* am lying on a cold, plastic plank receiving radiation treatment for a stubborn group of disrespectful cells. Stubborn like me.

Damn.