I drove into Hopkins this afternoon for my checkup. After a little mixup with the phlebotomist (who thought I still had a port), they took some blood and sent me upstairs to the imaging floor where I drank some shitty contrast that made me feel dizzy, and then laid down for my scan. Because the blood draw backed everything up I had about 10 minutes to run up to the café on the top floor and get a sandwich and some chips before running back down to meet the doctor—but not before the contrast all came out in a hurry. Boy, I don’t enjoy that.

The word is that my oncologist didn’t see anything funky on the scans, and my numbers are all slightly higher than they were in July—at about the same rate of climb during the last interval—so everything looks good. The radiologist will let us know something specific and the doctor will leave a message for me tonight.

That makes 22 months clear. I think on December 18 we’ll have to find a way to celebrate.