A Frenchie’s Feed on Radiation Day
[6:42 AM]
Mom said “we have radiation today.”
I said “we? Bold of you.”
But fine. I’m emotionally attending.
[7:12 AM]
She groaned getting out of bed. I stayed under the blanket and sighed like I had a long day ahead. Which I do. I’m the driver of vibes.
[8:01 AM]
She’s nauseous again. I’m standing between her and the bathroom like security. “You sure you want to do this?”
[9:29 AM]
We’re on the way. I hate the car. She hates the hospital. So we’re bonding through mutual dread.
[10:17 AM]
Radiation tech smiled at her. She fake smiled back. Then cried when they strapped her down.
I wasn’t allowed in, but trust—I knew.
[11:00 AM]
She came out shaky. I sniffed her pant leg with suspicion. She smells like sterile sadness.
[12:30 PM]
She said, “My mouth burns.” I said, “Let’s sue.”
[1:55 PM]
She dropped a pill. I sniffed it. She screamed. I remain the chaos she didn’t order but keeps anyway.
[3:40 PM]
She’s asleep again. That post-radiation nap hits different. I’m watching her breathe. I like to make sure.
[5:14 PM]
She whispered “my bones are crumbling.” I leaned on her shin like a weighted blanket with opinions.
[6:32 PM]
Mom’s getting existential again. She said “I don’t know if this blog matters.”
EXCUSE ME. We have readers in Australia, Mom. You’re internationally devastating.
[6:58 PM]
She said, “I feel like I’m fading.”
I reminded her she glows in the dark now. That’s kinda iconic.
[8:44 PM]
She’s in bed. I’m curled around her knees.
Tomorrow, we do it again. But tonight, she’s here. And so am I.
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