Chemo Eight

After a week off, out of sequence, Mike went back to the oncology department on Monday and the angels plugged him full of poison.

He came bearing gifts: his newest projects are wooden boxes.

(That sentence doesn't do them justice. Photos soon.)

Anyway, the doctors and nurses and technicians continue monitoring his cells: white, red, and 'other.' They are still not pleased with the numbers. Next week, Mike will meet with his doctor to discuss 'getting back on schedule.'

One discovery: Mike has returned to the Y and his swimming. You know, for some people, (like me) stroking the length of a pool -- back and forth, back and forth, back and forth -- would be nothing more than exercise that gets your hair all messed up. For Mike, it is most healing. He finds that as he stretches out, the discomfort in his middle eases. As he is a fit guy, working his muscles feels good.

His doctor might advise him against the public pool -- all those germs coming at the low-white-count guy. Or his doctor might say, as she does so often, "You need to enjoy your life."

We've chosen the later.

On the high school front, we are on final approach. Next week, we have three days of classes and then two days of exams. Exam days find me shuffling paper: the pressure shifts to them. I sense that my students are ready for the school year to end. Their English teacher is worn out, too. Summer vacation is just ahead.