bring on the mutations

One last test, both blood and pee  and the treatment begins on Tuesday.  First a small dose of radioactive I-131, the one dose to find them, the one dose to find  the deadly cells  and on the image bind them. From that image, the doctors will determine the killing dose.

It turns out that the surgeon leaves a reasonable amount of thyroid tissue behind, and hence the possibility of cancer.  To be more aggressive means risking damage to your vocal chord nerves, and the parathyroid glands, those four little fellows that regulate calcium and vitamin D.  So surgeons get what they can, and then use radiation to kill the remnant.  Sounds like  a role in a bad movie, eradicate the remnant. Makes me glad it isn’t a Kurosawa movie where all the good guys die in vain.

How awkward to ask the pregnant woman a few rows down the rabbit warren of cubicles we all inhabit, where popping up like prairie dogs for news we keep no secrets, not to walk past my cube.

“Why not”, she innocently asks?

Because two heads are bad for babies, I think, but say quietly, “I will be mildly radioactive for a bit. It shouldn’t matter, but just to be safe…”   She nods, a kind gentle soul, really concerned for both of us, her child and me.

But up pops a coworker nearby.  “What about me?” he asks loudly.

“Think of all the money you will save on electricity when you glow in the dark”, I tell him.

I wonder if I will hear from HR on that one.



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