Cancer: Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush...

One of our friends thought I was wearing a
tuxedo shirt. It was funny at the time, but
now I want a tuxedo shirt. She was right:
it is a "me" thing to own.

Cathy started chemo. Again. New drugs, more powerful (and more dangerous) than the other ones she was taking. Side effects? You betcha. Plus possible health complications, too. And all of this done with fingers crossed, because while this is the Standard of Care, it's a crap shoot. I mean, we thought we had it licked the first time, right?

The fact that the cancer came back so fast is what makes this a serious situation. Hence the stronger drugs. Also, we only have to wait two months before they do a C.T. scan to see how the tumors are responding to the chemotherapy. If there's shrinkage, we will plow ahead. If there's no shrinkage, or worse, spreading, well, that's a different conversation. One I'm not willing nor ready to have just yet.

Things are still cautiously optimistic. There is no surgical plans at this time. There's other stuff available, including clinical trials that have shown "remarkable results" according to the doctor. Staying upbeat, staying positive, has been one of the most exhausting things I've done in a while.

Medicine! My God, look at it. I'm positive that if Cathy is
struck by lightning while this is hooked up to her, she'll gain
super speed or something. 

The treatment itself is looking more and more like mad science run amok. Look at that; it looks like a melted fla-vor-ice. Whatever it was, it did a number on her. Cathy barely made it home before she passed out. Thankfully this won't be a weekly deal like last time; just every other week. In between, we're expecting Cathy's Chemo-Brain to kick back in (methinks it's already starting) and any other wonderful and glorious side-effects.

I hate this. Have I mentioned how much I hate this? There's terrible, horrible monsters walking the Earth; people who have rejected their basic humanity in the name of filthy lucre, greed, power, whatever. Tyrants lacking in empathy, murderers with no capacity for connecting with other human beings, and willingly cynical, hateful people who have no ethics, no scruples, and no morals. And my wife, a genuinely good and decent and kind person who has scruples, morals, and ethics to spare, is the one who gets the cancer.

Everyone's asking how I'm doing, too. I'm exercising and altering my food intake. It's slow going. But I'm heading to the gym now, for weight lifting. All of this is supposed to help with the ol' porpoise penis. Yeah, right. I'm not holding my breath. Much like how a watched pot never boils, a fussed-over scrotal edema never shrinks. I'm pretty sure that's the origin of that aphorism, but they changed it up so that grandmothers could tell that to children and not get in big trouble.

I've got a convention next weekend. I'm the Toastmaster at FenCon, and it's going to be big fun. Cathy has lots of support and we thought it would be okay for me to go before things get too heavy or weird. It's going to be a big weekend. I'll try to post on The Face Book as needed.  Over on the Fun Blog, I've got a week-long series of posts about Sandboxing versus Railroading. If that sounds good to you, go subscribe now so you don't miss out. If you have no idea what that means, then move along, lookie-lous, nothing to see here.

One thing I did want to mention that just sort of floored me is that right after I made the announcement about Cathy's recurrence, her GoFundMe page jumped back to life. I have the best friends and fans anyone could ask for. Thanks so much. We need the funds for all of the ancillary stuff that the insurance is not picking up. I had hoped we could get squared away before needing the page again, but that's not in our cards at the moment.

I'll try to keep y'all in the loop.