in therapy

After my tattoo experience last week, I toddled along to the hospital this afternoon for my first of five radio therapy sessions which will hopefully render the pain in my back redundant.

But I was issued a warning.  Well, several warnings actually.  Before my back gets better:

1. it will get worse
2. I will suffer bouts of extreme tiredness
3. I will experience some localised "sunburn"
4. due to the area of my treatment I will suffer with sickness and (how can I spell this?) diarrhoea.

I feared not though and was actually quite looking forward to the sight of the enormous laser guided ray gun that would no doubt be employed.  Think along the lines of James Bond and "that" laser.  I was not expected to talk.  No, I was expected to die.

Imagine then my huge disappointment when upon being led into a room with nothing more than a rather technical looking bed and no one stroking a white cat in sight, the radiologist explained that there was no giant laser guided ray gun, no glamorous torture, not even a cat; but just a little lie down while I was gently massaged by some radio waves.  

Anyway, I can now report that:

1. my back is indeed worse
2. where am I?
3. I have a feeling like (how can I put this) my gentleman's undercarriage has suffered minor scorching
4. I'll spare you this one.

But there is one further, indeed rather strange side effect to report.  If I stand outside in a light drizzle I am able to pick up faint Russian radio transmissions in my left ear.  

Perhaps I am the new Bond after all?