Tumor-versary

I had my one year tumor-versary on May 2nd.  Thanks to everyone who participated in the drive-by tumor-versary celebration.  The best thing about having a tumor-versary?  Having a tumor-versary.  It would be much less celebratory if I didn't have one.

And now that I have introduced you to a new word, let me give you a second - CoViDiva.  I still occasionally and very briefly go into my office.  If I'm being honest, it's a mixture of needing to be out of the house and my irrational need to print things.  I have a color copier at work, and printing things in color helps me find my happy place.  I know.  But keep it to your own damn self.

The corona virus affected/infected my office light.  Or it was just its time.  It's been flickering for some time, and when I visited last, had gone to its final reward.  I pulled up the maintenance request form for the building, and let them know I needed someone to replace the bulb.  The form has a very clearly marked question asking the priority level. As I don't go in often, and the entire office is empty and therefore I can set up at a dozen different places, I marked it as "low".  Not even remotely approaching medium.  This is clearly the lowest of low priorities.  I submitted the form, and it e-mailed me a copy.  On my copy, the form lied that I listed my request as a "high priority." NO!!!  Now the nice, friendly building dudes are thinking, "Sure, Mr. CEO.  We will leave our families, expose ourselves to the pandemic, so you can have a fucking light."  Though the building is owned by a church, so they likely don't use the f word.  And the building maintenance dudes are very lovely people.  So yes, I am now a CoViDiva.

As you can see, I still have things to work on.  Fortunately, during the pandemic, Magellan has decided to partially pay for tele-therapy.  It's only $115, but I still have to choose from a very limited list.

I set up an appointment with my new therapist Sanjeep, and we had a session Tuesday.  I kinda think he may be in a career transition from AT&T customer service.  It's a tough world out there.

"Yes, Mr. Smith.  How can I help you today?"
"Well, I'm having a bit of anxiety about the pandemic, coupled with my pre-existing health conditions."
"That must be very frustrating.  Let me see if I can help."
"Thanks Sanjeep.  I would like that."
" Have you tried turning your router off and then on again?"
"Um, no, but if you think that might help, I can try.  What kind of therapy is this?  Re-boot therapy?"
"No, EMDR."

45 minutes later, and I did feel a little better.  And our internet is a little faster.  I may upgrade to a higher therapy bandwidth next time.

Here at the Smith compound, we are adapting to the new world.  We are a combination shared workspace, dorm, distance learning site, and cat sanitarium.  As always, ready to switch to cat adoption agency the moment we find an interested party.

We have had virtual happy hours and virtual game nights.  I am putting the final touches on my two new creations.  The Lysol Margarita is just about there, but the Clorox Mojito still needs some work.

I have finished max bonus round four of chemo.  Each time, it is a little harder to bounce back than the time before.  But I am still bouncing back.  Margaritas, with or without cleaning products, are still part of my self-created treatment plan, as is bike riding.

Just after the end of max bonus round four, I went out and did a 27 mile ride.  It was amazing, and exhausting.  It was also a fairly hot day.  When I came back in the house, my socks were wet with sweat, and I did a full slide that only ended when my head impacted the front door.  A squeal and the dropping of both water bottles followed.  To their credit, Jill and Alex came running.

"Are you OK?"
"No.  I just whacked my head on the door."
"That must be very frustrating."

Five minutes later.

Jill: "You know, you spilled your cycling drink."
Me: "you mean when I whacked my head on the door?"
Jill: "Yes."
Me: "I guess I vaguely recall that."
Jill: "You know the puddle is still there?"

Tough house.