Superhero in Training

If I could be a superhero, I’d name myself The Radiant Rebel.

And yes — I would absolutely have a cape. Sorry, Edna Mode, I know you hate them, but I’m convinced we could invent something that doesn’t end in disaster — like an automatic retraction system or a slippery, no-stick, no-jam coating that lets me soar through the sky, slide through cracks like a mouse, and sparkle like I just left a glitter factory. No more “Is it a bird? Is it a plane?” Everyone would just know… it’s The Radiant Rebel.

And this week? I officially began my superhero training.

Day 1: Wi-Fi Woman

Spent the weekend with electrodes hooked up to my head, basically turning me into my own personal Wi-Fi tower. For once, I got to hog the bandwidth instead of my two teenage “protectors” playing whatever games require the cooling capacity of an industrial AC unit.

Day 2: Adhesive & Attitude

Electrodes off — finally! Those things itch by day four. And the glue? Strong enough to hold my indestructible cape together. On our way from my Ithaca doctor to my Syracuse doctor (scenic route via Cayuga Lake), we made a pit stop tour — gas station, Kinney Drugs, another gas station — desperately trying to get the glue out. We tried wet wipes, leave-in conditioner, dry shampoo. Pro tip: don’t. I ended up looking like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.

Arrived in Syracuse for my next fashion show.

Hairnet in place, rocking a hospital gown, I waddled to the OR where the team zip-bang-boomed a small repair. We chatted about scuba diving and argued over the playlist — I settled on “We’ve Got Tonight” by Kenny Rogers and “Rocket Man” by Elton John. Fitting…

Day 3: Glow Juice Initiation

Back home, after four actual hair washes and a dystopian dream where I fought bad guys (cape desperately needed), it was time for part three of training.

After 24 hours with no carbs and no sugar (Brooklyn Pickle lunch = cheese, salami, green peppers), I was injected with a radioactive substance shipped in a steel box from our state capital. “We only have one,” the tech told me, tucking me in with a warm blanket. No pressure. Then an hour of sitting still before sliding into the transformation chamber — half an hour of scanning, arms above my head, like reverse flying.

The Worst Part: Waiting

Here’s the truth — the waiting is brutal. Am I fit to be the Radiant Rebel? Or do I start building an even more fabulous wig collection? The odds are in my favor (shout-out to “Brock University” for the 6–12% stat), but the scan and an upcoming biopsy will have the final say.

Until then… I wait. I chat with ChatGPT (“give me the no-bullshit answer”), and I let the glow juice work its magic, transforming me into the villain-defeating, bad-ass, sparkly-cape-wearing Radiant Rebel.