42 I'm verified

Having had my radiotherapy 'simulation' I'm now having my 'verification.'  I'm on the couch and having measurements checked by a machine, computer, laser beams and thankfully three human beings.  The machine above me glides silently from side to side.  I'm getting used to that but am startled when another one suddenly pops up out of nowhere.  'Just a camera', I'm assured by one of the radiographers.  I have to say if it is taking photos of me (and I have to take her word for it) it's alot less painful than my recent efforts at a new passport one.  That had to be redone no less than three times due to rogue splodges on the film.

I take a squint at the computer screen.  Of course it's complete gobbledegook. There's a list of words down one side and a column of figures down the other.  The only words that jump out of the jumble at me are 'coll rot'.  Having discounted rotting collarbones I decide 'rot' could be rotation but am totally beaten by 'coll'.  I don't ask the radiographers.  They're friendly enough but I want them concentrating on the task in hand without distraction from my inane questions.  A decimal point in the wrong place is the last thing I need.

There's something very disconcerting about being completely out of your depth.  I suppose on the operating table or even in the dentist's chair you're similarly helpless, but at least in those situations you have some basic understanding of what it's all about.  I ring a radiographer friend.  'I've been simulated and verified' I tell her, 'and I'm starting the real thing next week.  Can you give me a Peter and Jane version of it all?'  'Oh Lord' she says.  'Don't ask me about radiotherapy.  After my first year of training I specialised in scanning.  Now, if you were twelve weeks pregnant...'