The Half-Way Point

As of this morning, I am halfway done with radiation (15 out of 30 treatments), and just over halfway done with chemo (22 out of 43).  Email me if you want the color-coded Excel spreadsheet with much more data, regression analysis and projections with confidence intervals.

On long bike rides, I always pushed to get to the half-way point.  After that, the rest of the ride will always be shorter than what you have already done.  Not necessarily faster, just shorter.  With the caveat that no one has removed the route markers (see Wurst Ride, circa 2015).  But I am on the downhill, wind at my back, fully hydrated and in a supportive peleton. Metaphorically.  If I was actually riding, it would be 103 degrees, uphill, into the wind, with pretty much everyone else already finished and halfway home.  But still with no more miles ahead than behind.  Again, assuming the a-holes around Boerne (typically young white guys in pickup trucks) haven't removed all the signs.  Or put tacks in the road. 

I was going to continue the metaphor with mentions of rest stops and spandex, but probably best to move on.

A few random thoughts at the half-way point (I am not committing to a number, knowing my history).

1) Met with brave Dr. Valliant yesterday.  He seemed a little surprised that I was still working mostly full-time.  Made me feel awesome and a bit smug, though diminished a bit by the fact that I actual nodded off for a second while we were talking.  It happens.
2) Brave Dr. Valliant's nurse has magic voicemail.  I leave messages for her, and never get a call back, but magically the things that need to happen happen.  Yesterday, she told me I was very "compliant" in calling and reporting things.
3) I realized how enormously condescending the word "compliant" sounds in this context.  Certainly, in my job we strive for full compliance, with federal funding depending on how well we comply.  But from her it sounded like she was praising a toddler for taking a nap, or pooping.  Both of which, by the way, we actually did talk about.
4) I then realized how similar "compliant" is to "complaint."  Never noticed that before.
5) I asked brave Dr. V about the chlorine smell I get at two specific points in my daily radiation.  I had assumed it was something to do with the operation of the machine that goes "zap."  He speculated that it was something being triggered by the radiation.  Literally - all in my head.  Not fully believing the board certified oncologist, I posed the question today to the Radiator.  Certainly seemed possible that this complex machine (at least 3 Teslas) utilized some specific (possibly poisonous?) gas in its operations.  The Radiator confirmed the all-in-my-head diagnosis.  He also confirmed that the light show I get when my eyes are closed is also brain-induced.
6) Not sure how I am feeling about the realization that radiation is causing both visual and olfactory hallucinations.  While I am a bit relieved that the machine that goes "zap" doesn't light up or use poisonous gas in its operation, I also wonder more about how we work, and how so much of our experiences are influenced by our wiring.  The wiring that is now getting zapped daily.
7) I thought for a minute about seeing if the Radiator could possibly tweak things so that I smelled baking chocolate chip cookies, or babies, or something.  But then realized: a) certainly it doesn't work like that; and b) if the machine is zapping some place with a smell, it is possible it will remove that smell.  I'm fine not smelling chlorine the rest of my life.  But babies?
8) And related to, well, nothing, I have been thinking about greeting cards.  My children have been getting graduation cards, that when opened, have lovely surprises inside.  Cash.  Gift cards.  Jewelry.  My lovely wife has been getting birthday cards (her birthday is this Friday).  I have been getting thinking of you and get well cards.  I am enormously grateful to get these cards.  They reaffirm the love and affection and concern of friends and family.  What I haven't figured out is - what do you do with these cards once read?  Seems like birthday cards and graduation cards merit display for some amount of time.  Holiday cards and letters get taped to the mantle, and stay there till mid-January.  The moment we no longer have empty space and have to tape a holiday card onto another card is a moment of tremendous pride in the Smith household.  Certainly, we love hearing about your year and seeing your family photos.  AND - we like filling the mantle.  Could just be me on this.  Remember, brain tumor.

But I digress.  Are there any guidelines about the proper display of "Sorry to hear about your brain tumor" cards?  I actually wrote "Dear Abby" to ask this question.  But her response was, "Dad. Stop."