Today at my radiotherapy appointment I found myself relaxing into the routine. Into the room, shirt off, bra off, shoes off, sit on the board and swivel my legs up and recline into the cup that supports your head. Arms up and back, finding their resting position in the supports above my head. They dim the lights so they can read the machine's projections on my body.
I close my eyes and feel work draining away as I give myself over to their low voices with talk of numbers in their strange language.
"I've got half an inf". "I've got 96.2 and that's good cover".
"Moon Safari" by Air plays in the background at an almost indiscernible volume level.
If I kid myself, I could almost be in a spa environment, relaxing on a massage table, waiting for someone to come and attend to me.
Sadly, they turn the lights back on fairly swiftly and then the peace is shattered by the alarm sounding as the machine has its wicked way with me.
But the five minutes they spend in the semi-darkness lining me up with the cross-hairs of the machine is my moment of calm.
I treasure it.