Spoiler Alert: Too Much Information?

Yesterday, I had my first chemo cassette switched out for the week. My good friend Daphne met me in the infusion room at the doctor's office. As the nurses are changing the bandages & tubing around the surgical site, she noticed the sizable bump in my upper chest where the port went in. She said it was like a little mountain and the nurse laughed. I chimed in that the word mountain has never been used to describe any part of my chest. No bra possible for the past week due to what amounts to a construction zone on my chest, so when they changed out the bandages, I necessarily had to flash my boobs at the older gentleman sitting across the room in his own infusion chair. After having two kids, I've kind of lost my sense of modesty in medical situations but I could see that he was doing his best to be politely discreet by trying not to get caught like a deer in the headlights, so to speak.

Today, as I climbed onto the table for treatment #6 of 28, I was thinking it would be nice to lie facing up instead of always on my belly. The treatment room ceiling is made up of hundreds of tiny, sparkling lights meant to resemble a heavenly constellation field, but I don't ever get to enjoy that view. My head has to be down on one side, the same side, every single time for "the treatment position". I have to lie perfectly still so that they can line me up with the lasers using the 3 tattoos on my hips and backside as reference points...which means that my pants have to be slightly lowered and I'm doing my best plumber's crack impression for a room full of techs and physicists. Totally glamourous, right?? But I accept that it is what it is since cancer is never a beautiful thing; so I just pretend that I am lying in a tanning bed enjoying a brief nap since I'm getting zapped with rays anyway. No one is bringing me a mai tai or pina colada, but oh, the power of imagination to overcome Too Much Information. I warned ya.