I wasn't able to get treatment. Dr. Wendy, who still doesn't laugh, said my platelet count was too low. I was very, very disappointed and expressed this to Dr. Wendy. I told her, "I feel fine. I don't want to miss any dates. Platelet's are stupid." Dr. Wendy was stumped. There is no medical response to the comment that platelets are stupid.
So I kept going. "The troops are ready to go. I already gave them the Eisenhower D-Day speech. They want to kill."
Once again Dr. Wendy was stumped. She said, "Uh-huh." That's a medical term for "I understand. But you're still not getting jack."
So I have to wait for a week. Some lumps have gone down slightly. The big ones haven't. The doctor said that he saw a small response from an X-ray that I took. That's mostly good news. A good response to the chemo is the biggest predictor of success later on. The more cancer that's killed, the better my chances.
So I went back to the hotel wondering what to do. I was pleasantly distracted. As I was waiting for the shuttle to go to Target, I saw Elvis pull up in a silver SUV. Now, don't go thinking Elvis has cancer. Elvis doesn't get cancer. He takes way too many prescription drugs to get cancer.
Actually, it was an Elvis impersonator. Really. He was there to performing for the crowd at the Rotary House. Yes, us Rotarians know how to party. Enclosed is the best shot I could get. He was actually short, skinny and wore a jacket that had shoulder pads. I haven't seen shoulder pads since 1983, although I heard David Yang could still have a few.