This morning I was up at the crack of dawn to get ready for a day of ologists.
I went to the lab, then the rheumatologist, then the oncologist, down a few floors to the dermatologist, then back to the lab, back to the oncologist, and on my way home by 2pm.
Except that I left my iPhone at the lab. Unlike the Sheraton, no one kept it and made it their own. I drove back, grabbed my telephone, and hopped back into the car at 2.30 and hit all the worst traffic that Los Angeles can dish up.
The good news? It’s my friend’s last visit to the oncologist. The bummer? It’ll probably be back next summer. The second dose of good news? They can knock it back out again for another year.
The kinda annoying news? I’m not really handling the methotrexate well. Apparently I’m having some side effects they don’t like. The good news? There are about a dozen other drugs that I can take. The better news? I don’t have cancer.
I know. I don’t have cancer, and neither do you (I hope). That oncology office will put everything into perspective.
I’m writing slowly, so very very slowly, about our fabulous trip to La Quinta. I double dog swear I’ll get that sucker done before the week’s over.
Oh, and also, that TV thing from ages ago… the one I thought was dead and buried? We have a meeting this week.