A day after the Festive Thanksgiving Feast and a day before the Festive Festooning of the House With Lights, Mrs. Foot and I festively visited with her oncologist for the first time. It was a kind of cancer treatment orientation, where he went over Mrs. Foot's treatment options, the particular pathology of her tumor (which I have taken to calling "Rahelio"), and peppered us with a whole bunch of other information.
The doctor talked at length about chemotherapy: how it works; general effectiveness, stated in terms of odds of recurrence within ten years; side effects; etc. At this time, we're not sure if Mrs. Foot will undergo chemotherapy, but we'll have a better idea in a couple of weeks. The doctor will be performing a genetic test on Rahelio, to help us figure out more precisely how effective chemo will be.
The nurse provided us with fact sheets about the three chemotherapy drugs that would be used on Mrs. Foot. One of the tidbits about one of the drugs caught my eye. I don't have the sheet in front of me, so I'm paraphrasing closely here:
Technicians are specially trained to administer (name of drug) because (drug) can severely burn your skin.
Oh yeah - shoot some of that shiznit right into my vein!
Reading that made me conjure an imaginary conversation between two hypothetical Army logistics officers right after the end of the Vietnam war:
Pvt. Parts: Say, Major, what should we do with all this leftover napalm?
Maj. Boner: Eh, let's inject it into my bloodstream to see if it kills precancerous cells.
I love the smell of chemotherapy in the morning.