Life during radiation treatment:
“Dang bladder. I just emptied you five minutes ago. How can you be full again???”
“Outta my way - I got to get to the restroom NOW!!!”
“You know I don’t dance but I’m pretty good at the Aztec Two-Step. Honey, remember to buy more toilet paper when you go to Woodman’s.”
“What are those little marks on my biking map? Locations of public toilets.”
“No, honey. I can’t eat brats nor coleslaw (nor raisins, nuts, berries, tomatoes, fruit, coffee, alcohol…) If I vary my bland, fiber-free diet, we’ll both regret it in the morning because we only have one bathroom and the infirm gets first dibs. And you don’t want to be second!!”
“Don’t drink that! It’s pure cranberry juice, so bitter it’s guaranteed to make you gag. Doctor says I have to drink it or I might have to have a Foley catheter inserted in a delicate part of my anatomy, a procedure I previously endured after a serious bike crash years ago. Worst pain ever!! I was cussing and confessing to crimes, real and imagined, in hopes it would put an end to the torture. Yes! It was me who put the hit on Jimmy Hoffa and I will tell you where the body is if you stop trying to insert that tube where it don’t belong!!”
“So, you want me to lie perfectly still on this slab for a half hour while I pass through a dark tunnel?? I’m getting premonitions of death here…”
“Is my bladder full, you ask? No, these little steps I’m making are just a spontaneous interpretative dance I’m performing while I search for the restroom.”