Radiation. Sounds sinister, doesn’t it? Like some KGB plot to eliminate James Bond. A foil-clad beauty cuddles up to 007, then Number One pushes a button and suddenly she’s a super-conductor. Voila! Fried secret agent! My appointment was for 9:00 a.m. Tuesday!
So far, everything had been cutting-edge and state of the art. So when they talked about a custom-fitted mold, I expected them to take precise measurements and special-order the perfect, Karen-shaped radiation delivery system.
Their ‘system’ turned out to be a can of Kwik Foam and a Hefty trash bag. The tech sprayed the foam in the bag and put it on the table. They positioned me to match up the beams to the dotted lines the techs had drawn on me earlier, with much twitching on my part and much complaining on theirs. (YOU try to stay still when someone is playing connect-the-dots with markers under your arm. By the time they were done, I had three roundabouts and a bus route drawn under there!)
So in just a few moments the bag swelled up around me to create a perfect fit. Then they wrote my name on it and tossed it in the corner for next time. Modern medicine at its finest.
Expectations can set us up for disappointment. We plan and hope, dream and anticipate, and then cancer bites us. But God delivers on His promises. “I will never leave you or forsake you.” He is ageless and timeless, and His love for us will never fall short of our expectations.
Palmer. ‘Natasha’ Palmer. Almond Joy Mocha, shaken - not stirred.
