This is going to be pretty darn quick. I know a number of you have been watching for the report and I didn't want you to have to wait any longer. I did have my doc appts. yesterday (Monday) and was supposed to fly home after that. I tried, but AA weather delays (the first re-booking), then mechanical issues (the 2nd re-booking) conspired to keep me in Houston one more day. In the Carpe Diem spirit, I found an airport hotel with a patio and pool which was quite nice. So nice I googled a nearby liquor store and scored me some pre-made margaritas. So, I watched the big jetliners leaving George Bush International and enjoyed cocktail hour. The alarm at 4am this morning came a little early for my tastes, but I arrived home with nary a problem.

The lung spot appears to be resolving. Whatever it was, my body did what it was supposed to do and took care of the sucker. Boy, were Joe & I relieved to hear that news!

There's a new tumor on the liver. Joe & I were a bit flabbergasted. I was resigned to fighting this in the lungs, but the liver was just a theoretical possibility I hadn't given much thought to. Suffice it to say, I am now. This time, there's no doubt about what it is. It has the signature characteristics and is relatively large for that short of an interval. Retrospectively, you can see some indications on the Nov. 2016 scan. The nugget here is that it's operable, and we're scheduled to go get it March 21. I have some additional explorations and considerations to do before that date, but for now, that's the plan.

I'm sorry my family and friends to be dragging you along on this, but I must say I'm sure glad you're here. I'll try to get a more thorough post of all the ins and outs about next steps done sometime before 3/21, but for now, that's all I've got.

It was a day of family & friends. In other words, it was a very good day.

It started with a call from my brother, who was making inquiries about my upcoming trip to Houston. During our discussions, I mentioned that lucky for me I still have my port, which is a device implanted under my skin on my chest with a catheter that drops into my vena cava an inch or so above where it enters my heart. This is used primarily for delivering chemo but can also be used for blood draws and IVs. That means when I go to MD Anderson, I pop over to the infusion clinic first thing and they access the port with a single needle stick and then I'm good to go for the rest of my stay. When they pull my labs, they just get blood out of that. When I go for my CT, they can put the contrast in through the port too. If you hate needles in veins like I do, it's a good thing. So when I told my brother I felt fortunate to still have the sucker, he started laughing. Not having any clue why that was funny, he then explained that my glass half full was turbo-charged. He then said as an engineer, my glass really wasn't half full or half empty, rather it was imprecisely measured. Or something to that effect - he's an engineer.

Around noon, my two best buddies learned I intended to spend my afternoon prepping for the visit with my doc. I've been wanting to start thinking down the road a bit. IF this is another metastasis, we're most likely talking additional surgery and more chemo. They thought I ought to have help, so they piled in the car and drove the hour up to my place to help me white board a giant flow chart of possibilities and options. Either that, or it was a good excuse to enjoy National Margarita Day (yes, that is really a thing), and they knew I'd be easily led astray. Well, we did do our homework:

After we'd finished our assignment, we retired to the front porch to enjoy the sunshine & 75 degrees. When the box on top of the mailbox was noticed (thank you Dean!), I hopped down and brought back a 2 day haul that would have been depressing for all the junk mail and bills, were it not for the aforementioned box and a padded mailer. I opened the box first. The return address had a patently fake name and an address in Midland, MI. It took me several seconds to figure out who sent it. It should have taken even less time, but remember, it was National Margarita Day. In the box was a sock monkey mug with a lid. Well, no doubt about that one; back in January, I'd had a really fun reunion in FL with some spectacular ladies from my high school days. We get together, laugh our heads off, do a craft or two (they have to beat me to get my no-crafty self to comply), and thoroughly enjoy each others' company. I'd found a sock monkey hat for $2 and proceeded to wear it all over S Florida. I ended up with a sock monkey wine cozy too (thanks Karen!). So when the sock monkey mug arrived, I knew what group was responsible. I think the sock monkey is my new spirit animal.

The padded mailer had the socks. I. Cracked. Up! If you count the enclosed card addressing the irony of free range chickens still being slaughtered (they tasted "surprised"), it was a laugh fest. Ah, life is good.

The short of all this is (Oh, thank GOD she finally got to the "short of this!"), the glass is half full, albeit imprecisely measured. If you've picked up anything from my assorted ramblings, it should be this:

So, as I go forward with my appointments, do one little thing for me. It's hard. Harder for some than others. Get something good out of something sucky. Be grateful that a chemo port gets you out of some IV sticks. Thank God you have friends who will sit on a porch with you. Notice that sunset and realize how incredible the gift of one more is. For me, do this one thing. Carpe the %$#@* out of this diem. If you do, it will have all been worth it.

Here we go again. Not too long after our ranch's annual November production sale, I had a regularly scheduled check up at MD Anderson. Since I violated the terms of my probation (when I developed a lung metastasis), I now have to go see the kind folks at MDA every 3 months instead of 6. I'm spending so much time down there, I'm developing a TX drawl. If I start calling myself a G%# D@^* Yankee, I'm going to know I've really gone too far. Geez, where was I? Oh, yeah. Back at MDA for monitoring tests. Every THREE months. Well, I am apparently the defiant type and even though they've got me on a short leash now, I still managed to go off-plan and have shown up with another spot. Last time it was the upper right lung. This time, it's lower left. Sigh.

Just like the first time, this could be a couple of things, only one of them being another rectal cancer metastasis. Remember, it could be an irritant, a tiny spot of infection, or some other scar. But, my money is it's one of TLB's minions. The procedure is to wait 3 months and scan again, evaluating the site for changes. Three months is Feb. 26th & 27th. I will have my blood drawn at 6:30 am, Sunday, Feb. 26th (yes, they run the CTs all day on Sundays) and then will have a CT scan prep starting at 7 am. Then on Monday morning, Joe and I will sit down with Dr. Kee and hear the report.

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They have a name for the worry that rears it's ugly head ahead of regular monitoring appointments. They call it "scanxiety." It is exacerbated when a spot has already shown up and now you have to wait 3 more months knowing that something is there but not knowing what it is and if it means you harm. Halt! Who goes there? Friend or foe? Fortunately, as I've said many times before, I'm not a worrier, but there have been some additional concerns to think about. Last time (the first metastasis in Sept), the Docs & I talked about doing additional chemo after the surgery. My gut surgeon recommended it but my lung surgeon suggested I wait until I really needed it. My medical oncologist and I talked about chemo after I'd seen the surgeons. In our discussions, I postulated that the lung tumor was already there when I was undergoing chemo the first time (after initial diagnosis). He did not disagree. I then postulated that the metastasis had laughed in the face of chemo the first time, so why would hitting it a second time be of much use? He again did not disagree. So, together we decided not to do more chemo. He left me with the caveat that if it showed up again in the next couple of years, we were going to have a different conversation. I'm guessing that having it show up again within 3 months means we're having that conversation.

Well, enough of that. There are 108 synchronized heifers and only about 40 of them have calved so far with only 3 days until the official due date. They are taking their sweet time! Joe just texted me to say he has at least 6 in active labor and 2 brand new ones on the ground, so they're getting down to business. It's 11pm and my shift is starting. Fortunatedly, it is unusually warm and (53 degrees) so you can't beat the weather conditions. It's not a bad job either. One of the prettiest sounds in nature is the special moo that a new momma makes only when meeting her calf for the first time. It is music to the soul.

I'll keep you all posted. Look for another report around March 1. Until then, peace be with you!

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