FRANKENBOOB

I’m shopping for new breasts.

Hokusai: The Great Wave of Kanagawa

Yesterday, I swallowed a radioactive pill. If I don’t already have cancer, by golly, they’re going to give it to me. Those of you who know me will appreciate just how far from the shore I have drifted when I tell you that, because you know, usually, I don’t even take ibuprofen lightly.

The medical assistant brought me through the maze of the hospital to the nuclear medicine department, and sat me down in a little, tiny room (possibly a repurposed closet?). She carried the pill in a canister, similar to that which is used to send money back and forth at a drive through bank. Inside, there was another tube, and inside that, a vial, and nestled inside of that, was my neon green capsule, tucked in like the littlest baby inside a Russian Doll.

She used gloves as she got down to the business of freeing the tablet from this complex containment system. I noticed the way she carefully avoided touching the pill, using only her fingertips to take the cap off the inmost vial, which she then handed over to me, instructing me to drop the capsule straight into my mouth without touching it. (I would like to mention here that she was quite pregnant. Just as an aside.)

“Don’t worry, there are no side effects,” she said, making sure not to let her fingers come into contact with the inside of the now-empty vial. This, she secured back…