Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I haven’t mentioned Liam in a while; he’s the giant radiation machine that zaps me five days a week. I guess it’s because he’s becoming a routine part of my life and is not so unique. Which just goes to prove you can get used to anything, given enough time.

I walk into Liam’s room and climb on the couch, the table, whatever the staff of the day calls the bed where I recline. My arms go over my head with ease now, and I’m familiar with Liam’s clicking and humming and moving as the session begins.

I also have learned when the session is over. I hear the door to the radiation room open – It seems to be automatic –and one of the staff says, “Time’s up.” Or “Wake up.” Or “That’s all.” And honestly, it doesn’t take very long. Just enough time to say a few prayers – Yes, really! – and focus on the rest of my evening.

I’ve been told patients begin to find it tedious, frustrating. So far I’m not there, and I credit that to the always pleasant and caring staff.