Good days, busy days . . .

God, I can be so clueless. . . sometimes wonder how I've even gotten this far in life . . . so, we're driving into the U this morning, as we've done countless times over the past several weeks, for Bob's CT scan. We pass a billboard that I've driven by almost as countless many times, as usual, I read it aloud, ponder it for a few moments and then out sight, out of mind. It's an ad for Duluth Trading Co.'s jeans—a simple billboard depicting a pair of jeans, with the caption, "Crouch without the OUCH!" In smaller letters, "Ballroom Jeans," near the ankle of the jeans.

It's light outside, and because his pain is better managed, my driving companion can prop himself up and get a better view of the world flying by from his back seat prostrate position. I hear a burst of laughter behind me. "That's funny! Ballroom jeans . . ." Yeah, I agree. I tell him that I picture a bunch of hicks wearing those jeans to a wedding dance or something.

"Ummm, don't you get it, Jen? They mean ballroom, as in ball room. In the jeans . . . Oh, nevermind. Must be a guy thing . . ." Ohhhhhhhhhh . . . . Ballroom. Ball room . . . I've driven by that sign more times than Bob has and not once did that innuendo occur to me. See what I mean? Clueless.

Got Bob to the U and back home again in short order. The CT scan took all of just a few minutes—spent more time in the waiting room than he did in the exam room—then went up to third floor to pick up a prescription of methadone (a rigidly monitored drug; the pharmacy will not let a patient refill the prescription until they know, based on their calculations, when it's time. No refills, must get a written prescription from the doc every time), then back on the road toward home again. We'll have to wait till tomorrow, at Bob's appointment with Dr. S to find the results. My hope and prayer is that Doc S says the tumor is ready to be operated on, though in my head I know it's probably much too early. Docs had said about 12 weeks of chemo, and Bob's only half way through. But, a girl can hope and pray, right?

Thought I'd share a pic of Bob's "cankle" that he had, thanks to all the fluids pumped into

him during the last in-patient chemo treatment. Not the greatest picture, but kind of gives you an idea . . . looks like my sister, Jill's, sausage feet when she was preggers with Amelia. They did an ultrasound on the foot when Bob was in the hospital, to make sure there was no clot causing the swelling, and it subsided within a day or so of being back home. It was kind of funny— the only time, in all the years I've know him, that I've ever seen anything look fat on Bob!

Yesterday was a great day for Bob. I had the day off, and did most of my usual Monday stuff. After I walked Rocco, I came back for Gaia, and Bob went with us for a short walk, down the block and back. First time he's done that in months. He said it felt so good to get out, get some fresh air, stretch his muscles, his limbs. We ran into a neighbor out walking her two dogs; chatted a bit . . . Gaia, in her old, arthritic, bitchy manner, let the other dogs know that even though she's old and crippled, she's still Queen of the 'Hood. Eventually, we bid goodbye and were on our merry way. It was slow moving, but one of the best walks I've had in a very long time.

I also had to make a Target run yesterday, and Bob wanted to go along. We got to break in his new handicap parking permit, the big event of the day. Felt kind of like an impostor as I pulled in and hopped my able-bodied body out, but got over that quickly as I walked to the back of the car, opened the hatch to let Bob and his cane out. See, I wanted to say to whomever might be eyeballing us with suspicion, which was probably no one. We're legit! I do wonder, at times, what would happen if we were pulled over, with Bob lounging in the back. . . maybe we need to get a special permit for that, too.

We wandered the aisles of Target, picking up things off our list, and things that weren't. Gasp! Normally Bob's a purist in his Target runs—he sticks to the list—nothing more, nothing less. This time, however, Bob would spy things and just had to have them: Pringles, Tootsie Pops, Ding Dongs (they were out of Ho-Ho's, to his dismay. Or, maybe, Bob surmised, Ho-Ho's were discontinued due to the politically incorrect name. . . .what's the difference? is what I want to know . . .), a tote for his baby laptop, rawhides for the dogs . . . We leisurely strolled the aisles, lured by pretty displays, clearance signs and other goodies . . .

An hour later, we bagged up our loot and headed home. I'd made potato bacon soup earlier and we had that for dinner. Bob had two bowls of the creamy soup. As we were eating, he told me this was one of the best days he's had in a very long time. Almost felt like our life was back to normal again. . .

I was taught how to flush Bob's PICC lines, which we have to do every other day (ends up only being once, between hospital/clinic visits, so nothing major). At first, I was damn near shaking like a leaf, thinking I was going to contaminate him or fill him with air bubbles or something. Now, after doing it twice, I'm a pro. The U should hire me. Wanna see a picture of Nurse Jen doing what she does best: flushing PICC lines? Here it is!

I know Bob's anxious for the appointment with Dr. S tomorrow morning. Seems like we've been just kind of jostling along this journey, without any real direction, no signs on the horizon of any real, tangible hope in sight. People ask me what Bob's prognosis is; I have nothing to say. All depends on how the tumor responds to the chemo, what the situation looks in terms of surgery, but we won't know that until the scan results are reviewed. Until then, we really don't know much more at this point in the journey than we did weeks ago, when this all began.

If you could all take just a little moment in your day sometime today and offer up a prayer, a good thought, maybe a handful of pixie dust (even though Bob is now thoroughly annoyed with those damn pixies—they're like mosquitos around here, and making a mess of the place! Penny has to dust and vacuum every time she's up here! But, I think they're kind of cute, and a little mischievous, so keep 'em coming!), that we get some good news to grasp tomorrow, we'd be eternally grateful. Just a little one, doesn't have to be anything huge. . .

Peace, Love and Ho-Ho's!

Jen