It's been a busy--and hence exhausting--last few days.  Wednesday, our L.A. friend Richard, who was in Kansas City for the rollout of the new H&R Block commercials, drove to Topeka for a visit.  As I've mentioned, Richard became the star of last year's campaign for Block after answering a company e-mail asking for volunteers for their ads.  After a lot of winnowing, he ended as the primary spokesperson in a series of black and white commercials.  He hadn't told me about his new-found job, and I remember watching TV last year and suddenly there was Richard on the screen.  And once he was there, he was there often.  This year he's the focus once again.  We went to dinner at the Rowhouse, Topeka's best restaurant by far.  I usually prefer the second floor (it's in an old rowhouse, as the name suggests), despite steep and uneven stairs, as quieter.  Wednesday night there was a large and exuberant party in the next room, and then a party of three large and very loud diners was seated at the next table.  One of them complained about the portion sizes; another watched TV on his cell phone during the meal. 

The dinner was delicious.  We always get the tasting menu: amuse-bouche, salad, soup, vegetarian main dish, two other main courses, and three desserts--all moderately small but satisfying portions.  It was fun to catch up, especially learning about the making of the Block commercials (and how lucrative they were, even though they ran for only slightly more than three months).  This year's commercials debut today, so when you see them and a bow-tied main actor (and see them you will), that's Richard.  I had my three hours of alertness, but just before the dessert course, I crashed.  Still, I managed to eat the dessert, and it was great to see Richard, whom I hadn't seen in probably six years.

Thursday morning, we went for Mohamed's green card physical to the one civil surgeon in Topeka, the doctor who had been so difficult to contact.  The office was about as far from our house as possible, one of two houses remaining in what is now an industrial section of town.  We were the only clients there, and Doug, the office manager, was just as chatty in person as on the phone.  Mohamed filled out numerous forms, which he gave to Doug.  Suddenly, I heard a familiar sound from long ago: the whirr of forms being inserted into an electric typewriter.  And then the sound of the IBM Selectric.  I hadn't heard that sound in years, yet it was completely and immediately recognizable.  Doug assured us that they kept no electronic records; everything was on paper.  The house itself looked as if it hadn't been touched since about 1955.  After the accumulation of many pieces of paper, Mohamed went in for the first step of his physical: a TB test and blood work.  Unfortunately, the doctor couldn't find a vein from which to draw blood, so we had to go to the hospital for the drawing of the blood.  Later this morning, we go back for the civil surgeon who will examine the TB test.  Next week Mohamed will get three vaccinations, and once that's done, it's back to the Twilight Zone house for the final gathering of papers, which will be given to Mohamed in a sealed envelope.

Friday we had an early morning appointment at the Cancer Center in KC--just for blood work and a consultation.  I decided that there wasn't really any point in making the journey and that we could do the consultation over the phone.  Mohamed thought we ought to go.  I cleverly forgot to set the alarm, so by the time we were awake, it was late for the appointment.  I called, and the doctor promptly called back.  The good news was the echocardiogram was normal.  I had been a little apprehensive; who wants heart problems on top of cancer?  I'm going back on the Votrient, though I've decided to try taking it in the evening rather than the morning.  I'm not sure why, since the three-week break didn't affect the fatigue at all.  We set up appointments for four weeks from now during which I'll have the full battery, including full skeletal x-rays and CT scans. 

The chemo choices involve quality vs. quantity of life.  But for the moment, though the quality isn't what I had hoped for, it's certainly not terrible.  Life is diminished; there are many limitations.  But I'm not in pain.  I have a husband who loves me and for some inexplicable reason thinks that this 68-year-old body is still sexy.  He's an attentive caregiver without being intrusive--a tricky balance to achieve.  My mind still works.  Life is still as interesting and entertaining and occasionally infuriating as ever.  I still have a wonderful network of friends, also interesting and entertaining and occasionally infuriating.  I'm greedy.  If the chemo increases the quantity of life, then I'm willing to put up with the not-so-desirable side effects.  Cancer, schmancer, abi gesund.