Day 17, Thursday, February 14th, 2013

Today was St. Valentine's Day, which the single decry and the paired up exploit as an excuse to do something romantic. Not that we specifically need the day itself for a reason for romantic gestures, but it is a convenient yearly reminder for that sort of thing. Folks, I realize this is coming a day late, but next year, do as Dan Savage says: Sex first, then the big fancy meal. My Valentine's Day was, of course, geographically impaired. With the assistance of my good friend Andy, I was able to get a small token to Ash, which was much appreciated.

This morning, we headed up to the 4th floor and I had my consultation with one Dr. Shinohara, a dermatologist at the SCCA and a friendly and capable lady. She'd had a chance to peruse my diagnostic files from Dr. Hull in Saskatoon (himself exceedingly capable), and was happy to have an opportunity for a proper visual inspection. The meeting itself took about forty-five minutes, and the short version is that she confirmed Dr. Hull's diagnosis of Mycosis Fungoides (non-Hodgkin's, circulating T-cell lymphoma), pending the clinical pathologist's examination of my most recent biopsies. I didn't end up getting new biopsies, after all, which was nice.  What this all means for my treatment is that she is recommending that we stick with the original plan: one autogeneous transplant, followed shortly by one 'mini' allogeneic transplant.

So: still here until September.

After my dermatological workup, we hopped up to the sixth floor, where I had to work the medical runway (Pictures. I had to pose for pictures.). My team wanted photographic documentation of my skin for comparison, post-transplant. That took about ten minutes, and anyone driving on the I-5 who looked to the west could potentially have gotten an eyeful of leg. Sashay, sashay, now vogue.

Afterwards, espresso. I like espresso.

Then a quick lunch, a review with Mom over what had, in fact, been discussed with the dermatologist, and then a video chat with Ash, after which the rest of the day passed uneventfully.

A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under one arm and says, "A beer, please, and one for the road."