Tuesday, October 25, 2011


Y'all know about me being psychic?  Last night I had a dream that the radiologist came out of his dark radiology room, and he took off his tiny little square glasses as he wiped his sweaty brow.  He's wearing a long, white, I'm better than you, lab coat with that big monogrammed cursive writing on his left lapel.  "Can't find them... they're gone" he says.  " Are you sure these are your films, sir?"  This is when Dad says "well, I reckon they're my scans..." and the sweaty radiologist says "yes, I reckon they are, and they're gone.  gone gone gone.  can't find a single one."    

Well, it didn't go EXACTLY like that today, but it was close.  Baltzy the Oncologist called Mom this afternoon to tell her that Dad left his office before he even ASKED about his scan results.  Do you want to be one who is called directly by your oncologist?  Yes, of course... but NO! No no no.  But yes.  This was nice of The Doctor.  Anyway, Baltzy said that he had run over to listen to the audio transcription of the scan results, and that along with some mutter mutter jibber jabber, the overall impression was that there was "significant response to therapy."  I only practice radiology for my own family members, BUT, using the word significant is, um... significant.  Because we radiologists(ok, I'll stop)... use significant in its statistical sense, not just its literal sense.  Literally, there has to be a big enough change from status quo to even think about using the word significant.  We won't have the real numbers until tomorrow afternoon, but this gives us significant joy.  Not only for the stability or the possibility of improvement, but because it buys us three more months of not thinking about it; doing other things.  

Dad told me today that he "would probably blog tonight."  I told Mom,  and she told him "Oh, Erin said you PROMISED you would blog tonight."  This, set off the rebellious spirit I share with Dad, and pretty much cemented that he would NOT be blogging this evening.  I understand completely.  It's my blog anyway.   

I'm 9 months pregnant- at least SOMEBODY is getting to celebrate.  

Friday, October 7, 2011

Oh Hellew. I know. It's been months. Dad's still wearing Hawaiian Razorback shirts and playing the banjo. There's not much we can do about it, as the man has cancer. I wonder if Steve Jobs' kids were like "Daaaaad! You're launching the ipad today, DON'T wear that same black turtleneck!" while he finished his breakfast and flipped them off as he walked out the door. I wonder. I'll come back to him later.

BIZNETH: Just called Dad to ask when he has scans. He said "uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh, Octooooooooooober, ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm twenty.............ummmmmm fifth. Yeah. 25th. Let this be a sign of the times. We used to know the day, scan time, and and results appointment time three months in advance. It used to be written on my calendar with a little scary face next to it ( yes, I illustrate my calendar with emotion), and now I guess we're just used to it.

Dad's still getting juiced with Avastin/Interferon every Tuesday. He still gets some headaches. His hair is turning darker in a strange Benjamin Button sort of way. Most comforting is that his eyebrows have returned to their original color. 'Cause white eyebrows are disconcerting. There has to be some evolutionary biological reason for dark eyebrows, as when they aren't, your cellular-level guts tell you somethin' just aint right. Gives me the shivers, and I'm glad they're back.

STEVE JOBS: His passing affected me. Not because I am a lover of his brilliant innovations. I appreciate small bits of brilliance in my little microcosmos every single day. It affected me more because I think I might know what his family is feeling. Pancreatic cancer is like RCC in that it has dreaded stats. And I'm sure that his family, like ours, put his cancer up on a shelf and continued on with their lives. They took cancer down every three months, dusted her off, then put her back up on that shelf to keep on keepin' on. He went to work, provided the framework for brilliant minds to come up with brilliant new tools ( anyone seeing the connection between Apple Inc. and American Restoration Tile? I know... uncanny isn't it... Who DOESN'T need a custom fired, historically accurate in color, unglazed porcelain three quarter inch square edge tile???? I know, right???? )
And then it all fell apart. Steve Jobs afforded himself the best medical care, I assume. If anyone has access, it's that dude... but really, at the end of the day, while Steve Jobs was kind of a big deal to a lot of people, he was just somebody's husband, and some kid's dad... just like mine.

I asked Dad if he had any business to report to the blog. He said he would not divulge anything, as I would steal his thunder. He did tell me about some dude at Kinko's that thinks he is his cousin, and asked about our plans for the weekend, etc.....

Our cancer is up on the shelf. We know she's there. We'll get her down on the 25th. Hope there's nothing to see.

Tra la laaaa