Radiotherapy Day 11

We go down at 3.05. The traffic is awful along the sea front. Husband says over and over that we should have gone the other way. I say over and over that I like coming this way and that we have plenty of time.
Mum is with us. And Terry, my neighbour over the road, over the hedge, she's with us too. She has her 2nd radiotherapy today. I have my 11th. We are both carrying our hospital robes. Mine is burgundy. Really rather fetching. Hers is stripy purple and white. I can't help feeling a bit smug about mine, as it's clearly nicer than hers.
We arrive and manhandle Mum into the centre. Everyone thinks she's the patient, and we the daughters. There's a 20 minute delay today.
We sit ourselves in the corner next to the knitting. We say a jolly hello to the man opposite who twinkles back to us. We saw him yesterday. His dad is having radiotherapy. Last day on Monday!
In the other corner is Ann. From yesterday. The lady who couldn't breathe properly. I had met her this morning in Truffles as I bought 4 cream buns for tea. We had had a very jolly chat about radiotherapy and our side effects (none) and how tired we were (not at all). And there she was, smiling and happy, about to go in for her 4th go.
They call her in. She goes. We all 'thumbs up' her and smile as she walks through.
I eye the knitting next to me. Wonder how to cast on.
Get my phone out and look up 'casting on'. Find a YouTube video of 'How to cast on. Very slowly'.
So I watch that, and get the idea. Pick up 2 knitting needles size 3 and a quarter. Whatever that is.
And cast on.
10 stitches.
Decide to make extremely small square. Purple. I enjoy the next few minutes, just knitting and chatting, my small purple square taking shape. Terry is called in. We continue to chat and knit and giggle. Mum is very impressed with my very small square. Husband raises his eyebrows as he reads Hello! magazine cover to cover. I don't think he's ever read it before.
I don't have time to cast off (need another video to show me how to) as I am called in.
Today I have the same picture. Jesus is lying above me, taking all the radiotherapy on my behalf. Just like he has taken everything from me on my behalf. How I love him.
All done, says the nurse. And kindly does up my robe.
We head home another way.
This is better, says Husband. Look, an open road.
Terry and I look at the hundreds of cars on the A27.
But we're moving. And we're home before you can say 'iced bun'.
We drop Terry off and arrive home. Put the kettle on. Get the hot cross buns out.
Heaven.
Mustn't forget to have the iced buns tomorrow.