Spoiler alert:  The test results were all good.  Everything remains stable, and I'll continue with the current meds, which seem to be working quite well (just in case you want to skip the rest).

My day at the Cancer Center, an homage (or hommage as the French, as overindulgent with m's as they are with butter and cream, write) to Mr. Arbuthnot.

Yesterday the static from my radio alarm pierced the night at the crack of dawn, rousing me from the arms of Morpheus.  Actually, it was pre-crack, since I had set the alarm for 5 a.m., giving us only 45 minutes instead of the usual hour to get ready to leave for KC.  Psychologically, the difference between 4:45 and 5 a.m. seemed as stark as night and day.  While I gulped a dozen pills, let the dog out and gave her a Milk-Bone, and tried to shake the sandman from my eyes, Mohamed showered.  Then it was my turn, and by 5:45 we were ready to hit the road.  The Med Center is just a stone's throw from I-70 on the Kansas side, and the affiliated Cancer Center just a hop, skip, and a jump south of the main complex.  With a little fudging on the speed limit, we can usually get there in 75 minutes.  Things were slightly different yesterday: for one thing, a couple of days earlier the long arm of the law had reached out and given Mohamed a speeding ticket, his first during his three years in Kansas, so he was nervous about speeding (though the patrolman, he said, had been as nice as could be).  And then yesterday for almost the whole journey the fog was as thick as pea soup.  Despite all this, we pulled into the parking lot at exactly 7 a.m.

We were so early that the parking lot was as empty as a Republican's promise.  First, I checked in, and there was a brief wait before I was called for the blood work.  The nurse, who had graduated from Washburn, put in a port, since I would later need to have dye injected for the CT scan, drew three vials of blood, printed out a sheet of stickers as long as your arm, and put a bracelet seemingly made of space-age indestructible plastic on my arm.  From there we went to the basement for the newly scheduled x-rays and the scans.  The x-rays have to come first because the barium you drink before the scans interferes with clear pictures.  The x-rays went quickly and easily, and then I was given two glasses of what looked and tasted like ice water.  Gone are the days of chalky "smoothies."  The only remaining downside is that the water (which evidently has barium in it) gives you the chills.  Luckily, they give you a warm blanket, which is as welcome as a warm blanket.  Usually, the wait is 20-30 minutes, but the time stretched to over an hour because the machine analyzing the blood wasn't working as smoothly as it should have.  Finally, I began the scans.  They first do a series without the dye and then a second series once the dye has been injected.  There's nothing painful or difficult about it (it's as easy as pie, though not as tasty), except that you have to put your arms above your head to go into the machine, and my left arm doesn't extend very well.  When the dye is injected, as fast as a New York minute, you get an unpleasant, metallic taste in your mouth.

And then the tests were over.  There was a brief wait before the consultation.  I was as hungry as a horse,  since you can't eat for four hours before the tests, so we grabbed a breakfast sandwich and some coffee.  And then we met, first with Jennifer, the physican assistant, and then with Dr. Van Veldhuizen.  While we were talking with Jennifer, I mentioned that I had discovered what a physician assistant meant.  She had just said that talking with an old English professor made her feel as if she had to watch her grammar, and of course I laughed that off.  And then, about three minutes later, comparing a physican assistant with an M.D. and explaining her choice, she said, "If I'd went ...."  Only a crotchety old English prof. would focus on that slip while waiting for his test results.  At any rate, all the tests were reassuring.  The tumor in the kidney isn't growing, all the blood counts are good, and the extra tests revealed nothing unusual in either the femur or the shoulder.  Dr. Van is going to send the results to the surgeon to see whether she sees anything he missed, but everything looks good, so I'll continue the current levels of medication.  And the 75-minute ride home was much more relaxed than the ride to KC.  Thanks to all of you who expressed concern about the tests and the results.

(While I've been typing this, it's been raining cats and dogs, or as the French so eloquently say comme une vache qui pisse.  The French are vachement cultured!)