No evidence...

We capped off the Christmas weekend by driving straight back from Des Moines, through the snow this time, the day after Christmas to a last-minute party hosted by Linn and John. It was a game night gathering, attended by friends and neighbors we knew and liked. A great way to put Christmas back in its stocking for the year and I still had Sunday as a day of rest, before winding up the year at work.

Just that fast, the December 30th appointment was upon me and I went directly from work to meet with my oncologist. There was a slight nag in the back of my mind that I could find out something really disturbing from the scan reports, but I wasn't rattled -- wasn't truly concerned -- that that would turn out to be the situation. I'm just superstitious enough to not beg trouble, however. I knew I should worry, just a little, so as not to invite surprise. Know everything on the menu, so to speak.

As it turned out, there were no fossils of small critters in my spleen or anywhere else. Whatever neighborhood small creatures went missing in my toddler days, there was no evidence I could be held accountable, other than those baby teeth marks in my brother's miniature turtle's shell, all those years ago. And to this day, I still have never tried turtle soup.

Nothing suspicious on the scans other than a couple of nodules in the lungs. Could be leftovers from childhood infections. Could be scar tissue from various rounds with bronchitis. Now, they're noted and documented and serve as a baseline for any future changes. The only other thing of note was the basic wear-and-tear degeneration of the joints: shoulders, lower spine, knees (no surprise there) and ankles (really?). I had been treated for lower back pain before, so I knew I had a disc problem. My ankles were always weak enough to make me a really lousy ice skater and a worse toe shoe dancer. My shoulders don't bother me, thank goodness, but I was surprised my elbows weren't mentioned after all the years I played tennis and racquetball, plus a little softball. Ergo, the junk knees. The kickboxing and zumba classes I had taken in the past couple of years probably hadn't helped either.

My little bit of worry had served its purpose and warded off bad news. But the most interesting report was yet to come -- where I ranked on the tumor lab's scale of recurrence likelihood.