It’s finally here. The LAST DAY of chemo. The final poisoning. The last drip o’ deadly, yet life-saving drugs. The kids are farmed out, and we’re off to the races in just 8 hours. Lance Armstrong’s got nothing on us Friday. Tour de France. Psh. Whatevah. We’re riding the Tour de Chemo. (Just kidding, Lance. It’s not about the bike. I know. I know.)

We met with Dr. W Thursday afternoon, and Bob will see him again in 2 months for a follow-up appointment. He’ll also be meeting with the radiologist in a few weeks to discuss his options for radiation. They’ll want to wait for the effects of chemo to subside first, anyway. So, there’s no big rush for that appointment. Even though it’s covered by Kaiser, it’s actually handled out-of-network.

Talk about operant conditioning. Bob’s been dreading this final treatment, not just mentally, but physiologically. He can taste the chemo (some of the drugs have a metallic taste as a side effect), feels ill just thinking about going, and the sight of pictures I’ve taken from past sessions make him physically ill.

Still, he’s kept his sense of humor as shown in his choice of attire for Thursday’s appointment:


Death: Our nation’s number one killer

I love that man. Love. Him. With all my parts.