Odds Schmods, My Brother Said When I Told Him

Hey, remember when I had cancer?

Well, I DON'T ANYMORE.

I posted the news on Facebook last night, and the cheers have been pouring in ever since. So forgive me if the writing of this blog post is blurred by my happy, happy tears.

This is a picture of the boys in the waiting room yesterday. It goes out to all their teachers and former teachers, their aunt who was a reading specialist, Marilyn Goodwin, and anyone else who sees three BOYS reading and would join me in saying, "Michael, get your camera out NOW." It's also for God. Thanks for somehow protecting them from fear enough - or maybe for giving them enough courage over fear - that Harry Potter still rocks at a cancer clinic.

You've met Dr. Rosenthal, the sarcoma specialist I've followed with since my initial diagnosis, but my chemo specialist is Dr. Myron. My paragraphs in the memoir on Dr. Myron are less than - well - Rosenthalish. He barely said hello or goodbye and not much more than that in between. I remember a line that went something like, "We sat in silence for what seemed like hours as he read my chart and scraped his highlighter across the minute details of my life..." My description of that first visit was repeated almost to the LETTER the first time we met with him this go 'round too. As Mom is my witness.

But he became much more friendly after several visits, even complimenting my boots once. And yesterday, he was golden. He laughed and smiled. He remembered my brother's name. I swear to you. (It's because we like to tell it as a joke..."Felicity, Serenity, Charity....And Joe." But still, I was impressed. Sometimes people remember the joke but fill in the blank with Frank or Fred or anything to sorta fit the bill.)

And of course there was the whole Telling Me I'm Cancer-Free Again Goodbye Sarcoma thing. That helped.

He told me one uncool thing about my odds (see title). Of course, I'm used to hearing uncool when it comes to my cancer. But apparently about half of the synovial cell sarcoma patients who recur at some point with a nodule or two in their lungs, as I did, will recur again. Which means that half of them DON'T.  Which in my mind puts me square in the who-the-heck-knows category which is right where we all are really when it comes to the good and bad of life. And that's why I really, REALLY loved the last thing Dr. Myron said.

Enjoy every day.

In the words of Anne - kindred spirits aren't nearly so scarce as I used to think.