Locomotoring

I am out of my “surgery”. It will be a few years before we will know the outcome. For now, there is no more to be done.

I had researched a lot leading up to the decision and while I was researching, I was anxious. But when the time came to walk into the surgery, I couldn’t be any more calm. The room was in the basement of a modern glass building. Like any other modern basement, it was bland. Light colored walls, flat lights, odd collection of waiting chairs, random wall decor, … It had felt routine and familiar. My procedure ran its course over three consecutive days. Each day was near identical, and ran like a clockwork. I was in and out in an hour.

The physicist in me was completely blown over by how clever the machine is and how routine the procedure was. An MRI is a lot more invasive in comparison where you have to get into a hospital gown and they stick an IV line in your arm. Here, I was in my normal home clothes wearing my lucky charms. The only non-routine part was a specially molded mask that held my head stationary. I am not fidgety by nature and if asked to lie still, I can lie very still. But I was glad for the mask – without it, the experience might have been utterly forgettable. The first day, I had asked for meditation music and had kept my eyes closed. The next day I let them choose the music and they chose salsa. I watched wakefully and I found my feet tapping to the music. On the final day, I decided to go without music. I watched and I listened closely.

What I suspect was her linear accelerator had a high pitch whirring sound. The rest of her was rather creaky. Each movement came with an effort. And she had a good amount of movement in her. If I imagined my head looking up at 12 o’clock. She could go down as low as 5 o’clock and 7 o’clock. I could empathize. Her movements reminded me of myself. I too move a lot, I too hear groans escaping when I do.

Here are the unassuming photos from a $10 million dollar room…