Here I sit with my morning cup. I've been out already, to radiation and back home. It's becoming part of my routine. I head off the hill, whisk in the cancer center, gown up and go to the waiting room. I've been getting to know the gentleman whose appointment is after mine. He comes in, turns the TV to Fox network, and settles in with his newspaper. He's interesting, and a talker, like me. He's a sign painter, lives in a small town about 45 minutes from here.
I've also gotten acquainted with the radiation staff. Ironically, one of them is a girl who grew up down the road from me. For years, the kids from her family were the only playmates that my brother and sisters and I had. I can remember little about her because she was so much younger than the rest of us. We chat too, as we go through what has become, after three days, a practiced routine. I'm lined up, the radiation is administered in four jolts, and then, just that quickly, it is done, and I am headed down the hall to get dressed again. I wave goodbye and leave the cancer center to get on with my day. It is interesting to me how quickly a new (and intimidating) procedure just simply became part of my life, part of my 'rut'.