Three weeks on, one week off

Monday was my last day of the third cycle of Gemcitabine, and so far, so good. I'm actually gaining weight, though not yet to the point where I have to buy new clothes or think twice about what I'm eating. And it sounds almost un-American to be happy about a couple of pounds more. One of the nice non-side effects of the Gemcitabine for me is that it hasn't changed the taste of food or affected my appetite. If the worst that's happened is that I can't drink coffee or alcohol the way I used to, I can't complain. (Note to LDS friends and relatives: no, I am not sliding sideways into the Church! If I could drink a cup of coffee I'd be thrilled.)

We went in yesterday for Jerry's yearly cardiology checkup, and the doctor pointed out, as he always does, that Jerry is undoubtedly the healthiest person he sees all day. Everything is good; the valve is holding, the aortic root hasn't changed since last year, cholesterol is doing just what it should. So then the cardiologist, a family friend, asked how I was doing. When I told him that I was fine, he said that there's been such a change over the past few years, that now cancer is more and more treated as a chronic condition rather than a crisis.

It fits people dealing with cancer into the same category as those with diabetes or MS, for example: yes, you can die of it, but the real question is how do you live with it without its taking over.

Well, next week is my week off, so except for going in for bloodwork on Monday, I can forget the whole thing. And it's Thanksgiving week. And Cinda will be home, and we'll have almost the whole family together. You can't ask much better than that.