A scope went up my nose, down my windpipe and into my lungs a little after one pm today. Mmm. It tasted yummy, although I was out cold for most of it. They were looking for spots. They didn't find any. So they're going to take one last CT scan on Friday to be triple sure.
That's good news. In the meantime, I meet with the SCT doctor tomorrow. If he's peachy with the chemo results, we could finally be on to some real puking and getting nasty sick. None of this panzy chemo stuff.
I had a dream last week where I was back at my house in Elmhurst. Just beyond our back alley, I saw a cruise ship docked. Not questioning the fact that there isn't any body of water in Elmhurst, not even a pond, I hurriedly looked for the dog's leash. Once I found it, I put it around Nala and was on my way out to the ship when my wife casually came walking around the corner. She looked at her watch (in real life my wife doesn't wear a watch and would want me to point that out to everyone) and I saw that it was only 10:30 am. She said that I still had time.
In honor of my dream, I had a slew of fun picture opportunities. Julie McCoy? Gopher? Captain Stubing? Jamie Farr? I settled on Isaac, whose double finger point at the bar is still in use today.