I spent Wednesday night worrying about my arm falling off due to the mysterious radiation-induced rash. I even called my parents to ask them if my arm was dying. They said no.

Thursday morning, I awoke to a much improved situation. The rash had faded from bright red, though it was still visible if you looked. The worst part? Still no super powers. If comic books taught me anything, it's that I am the only person in the history of mankind to have an allergic reaction to a RADIOACTIVE ISOTOPE and not get any super powers.

Moving on, the Herceptin nurse examined my arm before plunging yet another IV into my veins. She said that it was nothing to worry about. Having a medically-qualified opinion, I finally decided to believe everyone that amputation was not going to be necessary.

After receiving a mere one-week dose of Herceptin, it was time to run to the next doctor, Dr. Radiologist. Dr. Radiologist is a radiation oncologist, whose job it is to plan out the dosing of boobular radiation. I decided that I liked him when he said that I wouldn't have to get any medical tattoos. However, my high opinion decreased when I found out that the tattoos would be replaced with dots THREE DAYS BEFORE MY WEDDING. Not cool. Oh, and we'll be starting the fun two days after we return from the Panama Canal.

In case that wasn't the best news ever, he also mentioned radiation causes cancer in about one in every thousand cases. But I shouldn't worry because the odds are in my favor. After not only getting cancer, but heterogenous breast cancer at age 27, saying that the odds are in my favor does nothing to make me feel better.

One interesting thing that should be mentioned. Apparently radiation oncologist cannot be licensed to operate the radiation machines. They are restricted to merely calculating dosing and planning courses of treatment.

Two down, one doctor to go. My final stop of the day was Dr. Dentist. After three weeks of the final Invsalign tray (number seventeen, not that I was counting or anything), it was time to take the little nubs off and make impressions for a retainer.

While Matt didn't have a choice for his retainer, I was given an entire booklet of colors to choose from. After much debate, I settled on chrome glitter, because it seemed Googley. And I had no other basis for choosing between the glitter colors.

I was uncomfortable while Dr. Dentist sanded the nubs off of my teeth, but it wasn't so bad. What truly sucked was making the mold for my upper teeth. The mold goop has to cover the entire palate, which made me gag severely. Have you ever puked while there is a giant mold in your mouth? Let's just say I don't recommend it. Oh, and of course the first mold wasn't good enough, so they had to do it again.

I nearly forgot about the ants! While the dental assistant was preparing the second mold, I noticed an invading army of ants descending upon the equipment that was to go in my mouth. Unlike certain coworkers, I will not voluntarily put ants in my mouth. Thankfully, the assistant agreed that the ants needed to go.

Three is the maximum safe number of doctors to see in one day, and Matt was more than willing to drive me directly home afterwards. The end.