My surgeon Dr. H has the fervor of a convert. He never did believe the PET scan output that raised the specter of new tumor activity in my throat. He thought the radiologist’s report from the subsequent MRI was over-cautious and that the MRI looked negative. But after he carved his way in to get biopsy tissue, and saw the visible light photographs of the tumor-looking spot, he figured we were back in the trenches.
The negative biopsy findings befuddled him. Although he had a good deal of faith in the fact that the free-floating pain on the right side of my throat had subsided. Still, that thing that he sliced up for the biopsy looked tumorish to him. He did not mention that it smelled tumorish, which Dr. Z the radiation oncologist had reported regarding the big-ass carcinomas in my throat on the first go-round. So maybe that was a clue.
Anyway, I go in to see Dr. H middle of the week. I presume he’ll poke around, ask about pain, and scope me in the appropriate locations. Having seen the suspect blobs up close and personal during the surgery, he wants to keep a monthly eye on things.
Which I, it goes without saying, am big-time in favor of. But I got other problems. Fitness, for one. On Friday, I did a short, slow, and painful “run” around Annapolis. After maybe a couple thousand meters, my hips were sore for the rest of the afternoon. Yesterday I hiked into the (topographically flat) Patuxent Reserve for maybe a mile each way and was tired. Did the same thing today.
Along with fitness, I’m back to having to watch nutrition. The metabolic bump from the radiation is over. My weight is running between 215 and 220 pounds, despite eating being such a chore (resulting from my dysfunctional epiglottis and generally icky throat condition) that I have to force myself to do it. The lure of those endless massive milk drinks thick with cocoa powder and sweet with sugar is strong. So I spent the weekend converting to iced decaf coffees (maybe with just a scoop or two of cocoa) and real food. Well, about as close to the latter as I got was coldcuts on rye with mayo, but I’m working my way back to steel-cut oatmeal with Greek yoghurt and blueberries.
Anyway. The fact that I’m alive to bitch about stuff like this its own reward. That I’m sufficiently functional to recognize and act on fitness and nutrition deficits is icing on the cake of life. I spent some time this week at the viewing for a close friend’s wife who finally lost her long and painful battle with cancers. My take home message is to not take life for granted. Live it while you got it, my friends, it’s not forever!
Next week I’ll report on Dr. H’s updated findings. I didn’t spend enough time in the woods this weekend to get a whole docviper column together, so here’s a few first-day-of-autumn photos. One’s a daisy of some kind—oxeye, maybe? Some mushrooms, witch hazel flowers, a snail in the verge, and finally there’s a scruffy mid-molt Carolina wren. That wood pile she’s on is home to the largest black racer snake I’ve ever seen, BTW. Presume she’s keeping her eyes open!
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