This was the day that was

Murderers murdered cartoonists in Paris and escaped. The Frederick News-Post put itself on the map.

A woman in front of me at the supermarket this morning wanted to buy a pocket pack of Kleenex and the store didn’t have any for sale. I took my brand new one out of my bag and handed it to her. She said, “I hope someone does something nice for you today.” I told her I hoped so, too.

When we arrived at the cancer center, I saw my buddy Quentin. He was wearing a mask, as was another one of the greeters. I asked why and he explained that he hadn’t had a flu shot, so he had to wear it. I didn’t question him further. He said he’d had a nice holiday and also been to Barcelona. Good for him!

Upstairs, the receptionists both wore masks. I haven’t had a flu shot either so I wondered if I should ask for a mask. I didn’t.

I had to wait an excruciating hour or so to get the results. Once I did, I asked to see my scans.


Yeah, it’s hard to understand and the tumors aren’t where you’d think they are on the image, but the point is: THEY SHRANK. Just like they were supposed to. The largest ones measured over a centimeter before and they are now measured in millimeters, very few millimeters. My immune system is kicking their little tumor asses. I hope your immune system is never tested in this way, but if it is, I hope yours is as ninja-like and unsparing as mine.

I said “tumor” in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent, and Nurse Practitioner K (who was so happy to give me good news today since she’d been the one to break the bad news in September) laughed. Dr P came in and suddenly I found myself with the nickname “The Tumornator.” I’ll be back… (in twelve weeks, for a new scan.)

J and I called our parents to share the good news, then left the cancer center to have lunch. I had been postponing my date with my most-dreamed-about Japanese food, chicken katsu don, and we went to what turned out to be one of the best places in the city to get it. I ordered a very large beer that took me ages to finish, but was so satisfying. I ate and ate and ate (free refills on cabbage salad) and smiled at J and squeezed his hand and received many messages of support via social media.

When we stumbled out of the restaurant and walked through Midtown I felt like a tourist. Snow was blowing around like the inside of a snowglobe, and there was very curious light. Sadly I couldn’t capture the light just right, or the whirling snowflakes, in my photos.





(Personally, I’d want no part of a heaven that included Rev. Moon.)


Passed this jewel box of a firehouse on 43rd Street.

Now, off to do the perfectly routine thing I scheduled for this afternoon, and get a haircut.

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