A thrill a minute. Not.

"Someone ought to turn this into a thrill ride," I said to the radiation technician as she pushed buttons to maneuver the platform of the linear accelerator into the proper place. In response to her careful adjustments, the platform makes a clickety-clickety sound similar to what you hear going up the first big hill on a roller-coaster, and the whole radiation experience creates a feeling of suspense common to any entry into the realm of unknown forces. But despite the similarities, I doubt that anyone really wants to vacation at CancerLand.

I can just hear the carnies hawking their wares on the midway: "Step right up to get jabbed by a needle and wait long hours for test results!" "Smoothies, get your ice-cold barium sulfate smoothies right over here!" "Ladies and gentlemen, the Greatest CT Scan on earth!"

Who needs trick mirrors in the Fun House? Regular mirrors reflecting suddenly bald heads will do the trick--and there's a surprise around every corner as insurance agents randomly pop up to approve or deny claims.

Instead of the Tunnel of Love, loving couples will ride the Tunnel of Anguished Hand-Wringing Over How We're Going To Pay All These Bills.

Every effort will be made to ensure the comfort of guests. Colorful barf bags will be distributed throughout the park, and the Bumper-Wheelchair ride will be located conveniently close to the First Aid station. Can't handle greasy foods? Try the special: mashed potatoes on a stick!

Who would buy tickets for such an experience? An amusement park needs constant action, excitement, adventure, but the cancer journey is characterized by occasional moments of high drama separated by long stretches of sheer boredom and general awfulness.

But that doesn't mean my great idea should be discarded. Maybe it won't work as a thrill ride, but if someone out there is trying to design a new circle of Hell, have I got an idea for you!