Don't Stop Believing.

June 6. The day of reckoning. After eight excruciatingly long weeks of waiting, I arrive at the blood lab for my first post radiation PSA test. I request the older Jamaican lady, mostly because she is probably the most experienced and least painful of the phlebotomists there. Besides, a little good juju couldn't hurt right? I am not superstitious, but in a pinch, I'll take whatever I can get. She read the order out loud, including the name of the doctor that ordered the test. Followed by a silent acknowledgement that she knew the importance of the test from it being ordered by an oncologist.  I replied that hopefully it would return good news. I think she detected the exasperation of the wait in my voice."Not to worry. All will be fine.", she said with a soothing heavy accent and a reassuring smile. I needed that. A lot.
   Next came the worst part. Waiting on results. It usually takes two days before I get the email. Wednesday came and went. No results. perhaps the doctor put a hold on them. I had an appointment the following Monday, so that was worst case. Thursday morning. Nothing. Then, at exactly at 10:31 am, my watch gets a notification from my phone that I received an email from the lab. Here we go. I think I stared at the log-in screen for almost five minutes before I summoned up the courage to log in and look.

NON-DETECTABLE!!
Yea, that's what I am talking about! Now, I am well aware that the Lupron is playing a big part in that number, but I will take it as a win. The monster flinched! He ain't dead yet, but the fucker damn sure got his bell rung. I will put that in the win column for the time being. Armed with that good news - It was time to go to a rock concert with my daughter! We had tickets to see Journey & the Doobie Brothers in Tampa on Friday night. We had a blast!! got a hotel room for the night & ordered pizza, went to the show and rocked the night. I don't have the words to describe how awesome it was to share that experience with Ash.We got back to the room at midnight and finished the pizza. We had to get back up at 4am to get her to the airport. She went to Oakland. I went back to the room for a few more hours of sleep. Great times.

Monday June 13th - I meet with my oncologist. This was my first visit since finishing IMRT. It felt really good to see all of my therapists. They seemed genuinely happy to see me. They all remembered my name without looking on my chart. That meant a lot. Considering how many patients they see, it really meant a lot. The actual visit with Dr. B went well, but he came across more guarded against excess optimism than I thought he would. He stated matter of factually that the Lupron was responsible for my zero - that the radiation would have not had that much effect yet. We did discuss how long to stay on hormones and how to balance the side effects with the aggressiveness of my particular cancer. He seems to think that I should take  at least one more shot. I will see him again in December. Meanwhile, I have another PSA test and see my urologist in July.
Sunday. June 12, 2016. I woke to the news that there had been a shooting in Orlando. Forty-nine people murdered inside a gay nightclub. So much hate in the world.Hate crime or act of terrorism. That is the fervor on social media - that and all of the pro-gun/anti-gun bullshit. It really makes my sad when things like this happen. Then the predictable fallout - everyone very predictably retreats to their preconceived notions concerning race, religion, guns and orientation. It happens every time. No one is willing to modulate their preferred position just a little. As a result, nothing ever improves. Just "thoughts and prayers" for the latest round of casualties - flung like fairy dust from politicians trying to bolster their probability of reelection. 
Father's Day, June 19th. This was probably the weirdest day yet. It was a great day, but I was sad none the less. Over what, I have no earthly idea. Nothing at all had upset me, but I was on the verge of tears all day. Every time I tried to talk, a lump would form in my throat, and I would have to walk away.  Michelle kept asking what was wrong, and I kept telling her that nothing was. I felt bad because she was trying her best to make it a good day, but I could not shake what ever it was. Hell, I couldn't even define what it was. It just was. Then it was gone. I still can't explain it.
Our Quetico trip is now a month away. All of the major plans are made. Now it is just the final details of packing the essentials. I am meeting Larry on Sunday to do some practice paddling.
It looks like this trip is going to happen!!!