A Spork in the Road

My last chemo is over.

Now, we wait three months and do another PET scan. Hope that the cancer is gone for good. Then regular PET scans, spreading out to every six months and then to every year and then, at the five year mark, I’m proclaimed cured.

Next step: fight the insurance company, which of course doesn’t want to cover you if you’re actually sick with anything.

And start to detox. The poisons have done their job, now it’s time to clean out.

Today I’m flying high on steroids and delight. I’m determined to feel well enough Friday night to sit downtown for the Celtic Festival and movie in the park (Brigadoon, of course).

I leave you with two more quotes from Chapter 35 of Dickens’ Bleak House:

In falling ill, I seem to have crossed a dark lake, and to have left all my experiences, mingled together by the great distance, on the healthy shore.

And on another topic entirely, but no less true for that:

I said it was the not custom in England to confer titles on men distinguished by peaceful services, however good and great; unless occasionally, when they consisted of the accumulation of some very large amount of money.