From there, I enter a huge, cold room with a multi-million dollar linear accelerator sitting proudly in the centre. I have to hop onto a narrow bed with head and leg supports, pull the gown down to my waist and let the therapists line me up.
My arms are back over my head like doing a backstroke kick drill in the pool, but instead of a board, I’m holding onto metal bars with protective plastic covers to keep things sterile.
As Matt and Bec work feverishly, measuring with pinpoint accuracy from the table to my new tatoos etc. – I’m silent. In spite of much effort to stop tears, they flow freely from my eyes. Their warmth sliding down my face and onto the hard surface surrounding my head. As big, heaving breaths develop, I try desperately to suppress the fact I’m about to howl like a baby. How I wished this was ending not beginning. I have no idea how to get through this daily occurrence which will last the next five-to-six weeks.
Breathe deeply and take stock.
I’m still here.
This is helping to FIX ME.
It is quick and painless.
It’ll be over soon.
Tomorrow’s another day. How lucky I am to have that:)
Get me out of here!!!!
Encore Performances 