Imagination

When I was diagnosed with having a slight case of cancer several years ago, my imagination ran wild. “What if” became my go to sentence starter: What if it’s worse than they think? What if it’s spread? What if I die? What if our insurance doesn’t cover everything?

In many ways the “what ifs” were worse and more debilitating than actually having cancer. 

After my lumpectomy when a beaming surgeon told me that everything looked great the “what ifs” took a big break. Now my imagination could be used for good and not for evil. That came in handy when I began the tedious process of radiation therapy.

Every weekday for six weeks I had to lay completely still for 15-20 minutes while a machine slowly rotated around my upper torso delivering carefully measured doses of radiation. My view was lackluster, featuring yellowing acoustic ceiling tiles and one small poster of a forlorn looking puppy with a sappy saying printed underneath.

During my first couple of radiation treatments I imagined I was sunbathing on a favorite beach in Florida. But without a book sunbathing is no fun, and soon that fantasy fell by the wayside. 

Then I concocted an elaborate scenario in which I was a captured American spy being interrogated by the KGB. Every day my captors brought me into the Chamber of Truth and did their best to extract critical information from me. Every day I was able to resist their interrogation techniques. I was that good.

Once I graduated from radiation therapy I almost missed my daily interrogation. Maybe I developed Stockholm Syndrome, but I never divulged state secrets.

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats. View all posts by nananoyz