When I first laid my eyes on my custom ThermaSplint radiation head gear in the Radiation and Oncology Department, Hannibal Lechter's mask came to mind.
Turns out that I got my movie monsters crossed.
After spotting an ad for the latest film in the Friday the 13th series today, I recognized my ThermaSplint mask in Jason Voorhees' creepy disguise.
You can bet that I will avoid "Friday the 13th" this weekend.
After five straight days of radiation therapy, and my next session not scheduled till Monday, I need a break from anything that will remind me of cooking under ionizing rays inside that ThermaSplint cage.
I know I began this week optimistically but tonight I am bushed from the barrage of treatments.
All day at work today, I felt as if I were going to throw up, and I still felt that way when I was locked into position for today's radiation session.
As I mentioned a while back, it would be a major loss if I were to barf. That would draw the curtain on 32 consecutive vomit-free years.
I would have to reset my no-vomit clock, and I wouldn't match my current record until 2041, when I will be 83 years old.
I made it to my parking space in the alley behind my building without incident, but once I turned off the ignition, I popped the seat into reclining position and fell asleep in my car.
My apartment door is only about 50 feet from my parking space, but I just didn't have enough energy to make it there.
I've got five days of treatment under my belt, but I have a long road ahead of me: 28 more radiation sessions to go, and two more rounds of chemotherapy.
It's not even 8 o'clock but I'm ready to turn in for the night.
I know that not every day will be like today. That's what I'll be thinking when I rest my head on my pillow.