Today I had a consult with the folks in charge of wrangling the gremlin perched on my kidney, as I do after every scan. Separated by a month from the appointment with the colon cancer specialists because the renal folks weren’t prepared for the schedule change that happened due to my minor panic about pain in December.
Short version is the only version to tell about this appointment: For the first time since initial diagnosis a medical professional gave me a You-Call-Us-We-Won’t-Call-You.
Basically instead of a standing review after every scan, it’s a better use of everyone’s time and mental resources to not bother talking unless there is a change in the size of the lesion or I have some other symptom or wacky test results. If Lefty gets froggy, we’ll pay attention, otherwise I just have a little friend in there that is most likely to be ignorable until well past my overall best-by date.
That is a really cool thing to hear, though not surprising, and not as emotionally affecting as the shift from active treatment to surveillance. Still, a little milestone in the metaphorical Via Ferrata that is cancer treatment.
A tidbit of good news in these dark times. One less pube stuck in the turd sandwich of 2025. I’ll take it.
Oh, if any of you reading this want to come to the rock climbing gym, I have replaced bicycling this winter with pulling on fake rocks and I have some guest passes. Trying to find suckers— err friends that are into belaying and whatnot.
Happy Thursday. Get loved idiots!