Monday, I go back to the KU Cancer Center in KC for the once-every-three-months complete battery of tests.  We have to be there at 8 a.m, and it's about a 75-minute drive, so Monday will be an early morning.  I can't eat or drink anything but water for four hours before the CT scans, but then I'm not going to be hungry at that hour of the morning anyway.  I will miss my coffee, though.  The tests start with bloodwork.  At 8 a.m. there shouldn't be a full waiting room, so that should go quickly.  Since I'll need an IV for the scans, they will leave a port in.  Then come the CT scans, which are done in the basement of the building.  I'll have to drink two full glasses (just under Mayor Bloomberg's limit) of what now tastes just like water.  Well, almost like water.  The drink causes chills (and for some reason they keep this floor cold anyway), so the nurse will bring me a warm blanket.  Sometimes they ask that I change into a gown for the tests.  The new models are wrap-around, so nothing risks exposure any more.  But usually, I just wear my regular clothes, and once I'm on the table, I have to wriggle my jeans down below my knees.  The tests don't take long, and the machine doesn't fully enclose me or make banging noises like an MRI machine.  The only moderately difficult part is that I have to put both arms above my head, and my left arm--the one where much of the scapula has been eaten away--doesn't easily extend that far. 

After the CT scans, there's always a rather long break before the consultation with the oncologist, Dr. Van.  We'll probably meet someone for much needed coffee and breakfast during the break, but still, three hours is a long time to wait.  And Dr. Van, who explains things very thoroughly, always runs late.  I'm hoping that our 12:30 appointment with him will be his first of the afternoon, so he won't have a chance to have fallen behind.  After the consultation, I go to the third floor for the bone-strengthening shot.  And then the day is over, and, although there has been nothing difficult, I'll fall alseep in the car on the way home.  One minute the Med Center is on my right; the next minute, we'll be pulling into our driveway.

For some reason, I don't worry (much) about these appointments, though occasionally, when I think that, say, my sleep patterns have changed, I can't help wondering whether the change is indicative of something.  In general, though, things have been going well.  Just a couple of days ago, Mohamed and I were at the dentist's office, and the dentist (the one who had said, "Do we even need to make another appointment") came out and said that they had just been wondering how I was doing, considering that at the time of my first appointment after the diagnosis, the prognosis was less than a year.  And there I was looking in the pink of health. 

Over the last five or six weeks, the G-I problems seem to have significantly abated.  It's not perfect (yesterday was a rare unpleasant exception), but the change really improves the quality of life.  What's irritating is that there's no apparent explanation; I haven't changed my diet, for example.  In place of diarrhea, however, I have bouts of nausea, usually in the late afternoon.  They're not pleasant, but usually don't last long.  At that point, however, nothing sounds good for dinner.  I may take an anti-nausea (and anti-schizophrenia) pill--I'm still baffled by the combination.  And that will help, especially since we usually eat dinner between 7 and 8, so the pill has time to work.  I rely on sushi (three or four times a week) and Kraft mac 'n' cheese (it's better not to look at the yellow gunk that passes as cheese) and a few other staple meals.  I feel sorry for Mohamed, who far too often gets the reponse mac 'n' cheese or has to run out for sushi when he asks what I want for dinner.  At least my appetite, if not varied, is more consistent than it was for a long time.

I still get tired easily.  By the time I've done my morning blogging and written some e-mails, actually taking a shower and putting on fresh clothes seems like an ordeal.  Either before or after, I may take a nap.  And always by 1:30 I have no energy left and curl up in bed with my Kindle, which remains unopened, for a two-hour sleep.  In the mornings when I wake, it's as before: once I'm awake, I'm fully ready for the day--no hitting the snooze button for me.  But when I wake up from my afternoon sleep, it's a long struggle to become fully conscious.  Falling back to sleep sounds so attractive, and even once I finally force myself out of bed, I'm groggy for another ten minutes or so.  But then, except for the period with nausea, I have normal energy for the rest of the evening.

My left shoulder is much stronger.  I know its limitations (no full extension above my head, no lifting a gallon of milk from the top shelf of the refrigerator), but they're minor.  My right hip, however, still bothers me.  I had thought that the surgery would be like a hip replacement and that after a month or so, I'd be back to normal.  But that was naive.  The top half of the femur is titanium; the ball part of the ball-and-socket hip joint is plastic, so there's nothing natural for the muscles to attach to.  It's all much better, but going up and down stairs is easier with a railing or with my cane.  And dressing and undressing involves multiple turns of sitting and standing, since I can't just stand on one leg.  But all of these are minor inconveniences, and generally everything is going well. 

Usually, I'd blog again on Monday, but since we'll leave so early and since I won't have the results till Monday afternoon, I'll wait till Tuesday for my next post.