Today I will go to the surgeon, get my stitches out and find out the pathology of Clyde. I still feel pretty confidant that Clyde is not cancer, but...there is always a but (or a butt).
Speaking of butts, the kids bought me a box of 20 full size cancer bars for my birthday. My butt will be huge. I may get back to dieting after I am sure that Clyde is cool. I guess there is a mental thing where I don't really worry about the size of my ass if I am still cancer-y.
Well, that may not be entirely true. I ate a bunch of crap during chemo, because I could. I am eating crap now because I can. I did try, and succeed in losing weight before cancer because I started thinking about how the extra weight would affect me in my old age. I didn't want the people in the nursing home to have to life my fat ass out of the bed. Since I lost weight when I had 40 years to prep for my nursing home stay, you would think that I would work harder to get in shape since my period of infirmity may be much closer now.
But not today.
Ooh, one creepy thing. My stitches are not the dissolving kind. They feel like fishing line. They poke out of my shirt and when I accidentally rub it it feels very icky. But, the skin seems to be doing OK, I think the holes will heal up fine. I may have escaped the dreaded non healing radiated wound fate.