Final Round

Today is the last day for SBRT treatment. My wife found a pretty sweet presentation of how radioactive treatment works in relation to pancreatic cancer. If you want to check it out, it's over here.

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.

In retrospect, I'm thinking, if this guy can mash a Model S, then I can get this stupid tumor to be resectable.

Then on the way home, we saw a driver who was texting and swerving, and I thought, maybe one of Toomie's relatives is eating away at her sensibilities, and it sure would be awesome to have that dumb mass of overactive flesh out of me before it crashes into something I really need, say another organ. I couldn't get a shot of her actually texting, as she switched to sipping her soda by the time I was in shooting range. Let these pictures be a warning that mobile devices are everywhere waiting to capture your sins and triumphs.

We're about to head out to drive down. I'm looking forward to wrapping up the treatment this week. Next week I have "off", meaning no radiation or chemo. The following weeks I'm back on chemo. Take that Toomie. I take great pleasure hurting you, and hastening your demise. I'm getting The Stars My Destination on that ass. Tumor, I kill you filthy.