So I had my three-month scan today. Not a PET/CT, but a standalone CT that covered my skull, neck, chest, abdomen, and thighs. I had the tasty two bottles of barium contrast, and also got the IV contrast this time -- which was a first. When you're in the middle of the scan and they inject the IV contrast, it sends a burning hot sensation up your arm, and then into you chest and abdomen. At one point, I thought I had gone to the bathroom on myself, but fortunately it ended up being just a mixed signal to the brain somehow.
The scan results are in, but I won't know them until I sit down with 'Tiger MD' next Wednesday morning. Why rush it? Won't change 'em...
On a less enjoyable note, some close friends introduced me last night to a guy who was just diagnosed with Lymphoma. After speaking with him for what will be the first of many, many conversations to come, I hung up feeling a tinge of anxiety. It was almost as if I was reliving the uncertainty that comes with this sort of life-changing new information. He, like me, is in his 30s, lives in Atlanta, is married and has no children at this point.
I asked him to read me the details of his pathology report. He has been diagnosed with the same Lymphoma as I was initially diagnosed- diffuse large b-cell. Similarly, two oncologists told him to get started with R-CHOP. When he read that his Ki-67 stain, a measure of the proliferative rate of cancer, approached 100%, I insisted that he ask his docs to tell him why he DOESN'T have Burkitt's. For me, the corrected re-diagnosis to Burkitt's from a plain vanilla diffuse large b-stell was only possible after additional testing was pursued. I am very curious if they will request that same additional testing in order to rule out -- or in -- Burkitt's While I certainly hope it's not Burkitt's and that he is able to pursue the less toxic chemo, it will be quite ironic if his experience parallels my own in this aspect. I'll keep current with him, without a doubt.
On a final note, I am very fond of cats. Probably borderline 'cat whisperer'. I try to sweet-talk stranger cats I meet on neighborhood walks, and tend to take pause and consider what to do when I see a mangey dumpster stray scurrying about. So we have two cats-- Dude and (Fat) Mama. Dude is a very needy and loving cat. He meets you at the door, follows you around the house, and insists on nibbling on your ear when you are seated.
I rarely lose my keys. I tend to put them in the same place on the countertop every time I come home. Last week, I had a problem: I lost my keys. How was this possible? I looked in all the likely places, but had no success in finding them. After starting to wonder how in the world I'd find my way out of the predicament, I looked over at Dude, who was sitting still, watching my fruitless search.
I inquired aloud, "Dude! I've gotta find my keys!!"
Though he normally doesn't meow excessively, he let out a long, awkward, labored cry. "Merrreeoooowwwwoooowwwoww."
As he let out this protracted sound, he walked a few steps across the room and rubbed his body against a bag of dog wee-pads (don't ask) that was opened and mostly full. My eyes, as they made contact with his, saw a slight metallic reflection nearby, peeking out from in between these pads--- IN this bag.
Of course. He was showing me where the keys were. He had known all along where they had fallen, out of my pocket several hours earlier that day.
I had to take pictures to prove it -- because it was certainly absurd. Even better, my wife Candace witnessed the entire episode. See the keys hiding in there??? Thanks, Dude!
