Lymph Limbo

Back on my feet after a couple of days sleeping off the after-effects of anaesthesia, I'm still processing the post-surgical news.  Or lack thereof.

The Dutchman and the BFF pow-wowed while I was resurfacing in recovery on Thursday.  I seem to be a tough nut to crack in more than the obvious ways.  Remember the third biopsy?  The one they did 'cause they were looking for invasive cancer, but which didn't provide the evidence that turned out to be there, once I was on the table?  Well, it turns out my node sample proved just as inconclusive.  I seem to have a knack for the equivocal.

The Dutchman plays by the book -- yet again, my kinda guy -- so, when the pathologist reported that the sample was uncertain on first examination, he opted not to remove the nodes.  Don't take 'em if you can't be sure, he figured.  So, I left OR without a definitive verdict -- clean or cancer -- on the lymph nodes.  Which means it'll be the 18th before I'll know for sure what they found.  Or didn't.

And if there's cancer in the nodes -- you guessed it -- I'll be back for round three with The Dutchman.  So, twelve more days before I know whether the Gold Floor is behind me.  Hope for the best;  brace for the worst.

I'll practice saying "shit", just in case.