Gorilla Hunting

The foray into Point 12 of the Plan-of-Attack (chemotherapy) begins this week. While it’s unlikely that I’ll be connected to an IV line by Friday, I’ll have met with at least two, and hopefully three, gorilla handlers before their Saturday morning tee-off times roll around.

Heading off to LA momentarily to meet with the Medical Director at LA1. This should be interesting. I’m bringing a collection of medical notes and imaging studies dating back to 1992. If I get lost on the way I think I’ll just find a vacant storefront and open my own medical library.

I’m hoping to hear something encouraging but I’m prepared for the doom and gloom that seems to be served up on a daily basis when I visit the guys in white coats. They really should post a menu board in the waiting room advertising the gloom-du-jour.

Hopefully I won’t be subjected to anymore “Are you sure you feel alright?” interrogations after they review my charts. Yes I am, and yes I do. Thirty-four consecutive days and counting on the morning hikes. Four consecutive nights and counting on the sleeping outside on the ground. What’s a guy gotta do to shorten the long faces?

Fix your face, doc. I’m headed your way.