Passing Through the Gate of Extreme Radiation

In a week, I will get a shot of highly radioactive material in an attempt to nuke the cancer within me while I survive. The procedure will occur at the University of Penn hospital in Philly. I will be kept in a hospital room until my personal radioactive level is at a level for me to be safe on the street. (I'm actually not sure if that's a law, but it's a really good idea to keep people who are very radioactive from walking around and giving people x-rays without their permission.)

I will likely spend 4-5 days in the hospital and be released on Friday. I will still be dangerously radioactive, so when I go home I will need to stay away from Bessie and other multi-cellular organisms that I value. We have a Geiger counter to help figure out what my radioactive level is and how close I can be without hurting her. It will certainly be an awkward number of days, but we could have fun with it.

The most likely immediate side-effect from the radioactive shot will be nausea. While I'm in the hospital they will have me hooked to an IV with Zofran. I have questioned the doctors extensively about the chance of gaining new superhuman abilities such as super strength or the ability to detect danger, but they say I have watched too many cheesy movies and I should focus.

While I myself will be radioactive, the easiest way that I could "spread" radioactivity is through bodily fluids, most effectively through spit. As such, much of what I bring into my hospital room will be discarded because who among us doesn't spray their environment with a slow, gentle mist of saliva? I will be able to bring in my phone and a backup as well as my Nintendo Switch. They will wrap those up in plastic wrap to prevent the saliva from getting on the device. I will likely wear a mask while I play my Switch to prevent my radioactive slobber from getting in the joints of the game system.

I am bringing a number of puzzle books along with me to work on. I'm bringing a book of New York Times Tuesday crossword (you can judge, I'm not that great), KenKen, and another puzzle book. A good friend gave me a coloring book and a nice batch of pencils to just chill out when I'm not feeling well. I will be sad to have to toss those.

How am I feeling about it? Fine, I think. For the last few weeks it has been a sharp dividing line in my life where there are things that will happen before the treatment and the things that will happen after the treatment. 

Since the initial chemo attempt failed, I don't know how to say "I really want this to work" with the correct amount of extreme, desperate emphasis. For the last two months the cancer has grown in my body unimpeded. I want to knock this cancer out for a few rounds and give myself a few more years. I can't win this fight, but I want to buy as much time as I can.