Yesterday I spoke with my radiation oncologist, Albert, who indicated that my case would be going up at the Stanford Tumor Board. Physicians, surgeons, medical oncologists, radiation oncologists, and others would review all the pretty pictures of my guttiwuts and determine whether or not I'd be a candidate for resection (i.e. cutting that little bastard out of me, and letting it pickle in a jar of formaldehyde on my nightstand). There's the possibility, of course, that the tumor will be in such a position as to make it unresectable, and I'd essentially go on with my life with a dead tumor and doing chemo periodically throughout the rest of my life.
I honestly have to say that I'm more inclined to prefer resection. There's something about leaving a necrotic mass in me that, while appealing to my inner horror movie fan, also disgusts me. We are going to talk with Albert and the coordinating nurse, Gillian, later today to cover these issues, as well as hearing their plan for moving ahead.
Having said all that, on the way over to the center saw an older gentleman driving a new Tesla Model S, their new sedan model. It looked downright sexy, and the dude was driving it respectably, which basically refuted the argument presented in Porno for Pyros "Cursed Male", please listen below.
The Stars My Destination on that ass. Tumor, I kill you filthy.