Death to dignity

Yesterday I endured my second brachytherapy treatment, but I've been avoiding writing about brachytherapy because it's, um, uncomfortable. Not painful. There is no pain involved (so far!), although I've been told that I might experience some burning with the next few treatments. The discomfort is purely psychological. This treatment hits me right where it hurts: in the dignity.

Now one thing cancer treatment ought to have taught me is that when cancer comes in the door, dignity flies out the window. Since June, my naked body has been exposed to far too many people, starting with the doctors who were called in for consultation when the cancer first showed itself during my surgery. I later got bills from doctors I had encountered only while under anesthesia. I understand that these doctors deserve to be paid for lending their expertise to my case, but I resent handing over my hard-earned cash to a doctor I've never actually laid eyes on. If some total stranger insists on sticking his hand in my abdomen while I'm sedated, the least he can do is show me his face while I'm conscious.

But that was just the first of many indignities, most of which I'd rather forget. When I was doing daily radiation treatments, I grew accustomed to disrobing in front of the radiation girls and lying there half-exposed while Elekta the elegant linear accelerator did her thing, and I tried to forget about the video camera constantly monitoring my treatment so that the radiation girls in the next room could help me if I had any problems. I don't like having my picture taken when I'm fully clothed much less when I'm flat on my back half naked and unable to move. Let's hope those videos never show up on YouTube!

But brachytherapy is even worse, because not only am I constantly monitored via video camera, but a whole horde of medical people play a part in the treatment, including a guy who keeps running a geiger counter over me as if I'm some sort of dangerous ordnance that might explode at any moment. I'd like to maintain whatever meager shreds of dignity I may yet possess so I'm not going to describe the treatment in detail, but imagine the most humiliating medical procedure you've ever experienced, and then imagine that three different people representing both of the major genders are intimately involved, and then imagine that the whole thing is captured on video. Uncomfortable?

Yesterday's treatment was the worst yet: the cancer center was nearly empty when I arrived and it was clear that some sort of holiday merry-making was occurring behind the scenes. Don't we all hope our radiation will be administered by people who have made a few visits to the holiday punchbowl? This made me nervous, but the presence of a repair guy doing some sort of service on Elekta made me even more nervous. Elekta is not involved in brachytherapy, but the treatment takes place in Elekta's lair, a room with thick walls to protect everyone from errant radiation. Everyone except me, that is.

My treatment was delayed until the repair guy could leave the room, but then he went to mess with computers in the little room where the radiation girls monitor the video feed on which I am the main attraction. If the repair guy sends me a bill, I'm not paying it.

After brachytherapy I tend to shut down entirely: I drive home, grab a book, and absent myself from the world of geiger counters and linear accelerators and repair guys and video feeds and exposure and discomfort. I don't want to think about it and I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to write about it--and I'll bet you don't want to read about it. I comfort myself with the knowledge that after only two more treatments I'll be done, and then maybe I can start rebuilding what little dignity I've retained through five months of cancer treatment.

In Singin' in the Rain, the fictional star Don Lockwood's undignified early career contrasts sharply with his motto: "Dignity, always dignity." When I'm done with brachytherapy, I'll send my dignity into rehab so it can learn to belt out "Singin' through the Pain."

Er, make that "discomfort."