Laughter is the best medicine

The ultrasound doctor took all of thirty seconds to find the pocket of fluid long suspected to be causing my pain. It is "complicated," which means it could be some combination of blood and fluid. We won't know if it is infected until it is aspirated, and that can be done under local anesthetic and will likely happen tomorrow or Friday.

The doctors are fine and skilled and helpful in many ways, yet they are not the ones I see on a daily basis. And so it is the humor and goodwill of the techs, nurses, and office staff that help make the treatments bearable. My doctor quite rightly and professionally stated that my burnt and oozing skin looked "as expected after 4 ½ weeks of radiation." The ultrasound assistant, on the other hand, took one look and joked that my skin was "crisp." Apparently, many of them have developed a sort of sick sense of humor to make it through. Today it helped me through.

Today also began the high-dose radiation treatments. Same machine, different attachment, smaller area outlined with a green marker, weirder sound-–a very wounded bag pipe. It delivers a less-penetrating dose across the surface around the scar. It's designed to disrupt any microscopic cancer cells in the surgical field that may have escaped removal.