Thursday was our first day of having tests and the consultation at the Cancer Center here in Topeka. It's about a 20-minute drive from our house, so shifting to Topeka cuts an hour each way from our itinerary. After all the years of going to Kansas City where we knew exactly where each test was given and how the routine unfolded--several rooms on three different floors--we had to learn the new pattern. The check-in for all procedures takes place in one room, a lovely, large atrium. I was called immediately for the blood work, and then after a brief wait, we saw Dr. Hashmi. All the results were in the normal range, even the red blood cell level and the Vitamin D, both of which have sometimes been below where they should be. So we'll stay on the same regimen with the next visit scheduled for six weeks from now. The CT scans, however, will take place a few days earlier at Stormont-Vail hospital with which the cancer center is affiliated.
The import of the visit was almost overshadowed when, the night before at about 10, we noticed that the house was feeling quite chilly. A little investigation revealed that the furnace had gone out. We got out a 40-year old electric blanket (twenty years younger than the electric heating pad that I sometimes, rather fearfully, drag out). Three quarters of the blanket still worked. The next day, after our return from the cancer center, the heating guy came. He said that it wasn't the furnace, but rather the breaker panel, which was so old that parts weren't available and would need to be replaced. The good news was that we were having warmer than normal temperatures, though still below freezing at night; the bad news was that they wouldn't be able to install the new panel until Monday. Off we went to Lowe's to buy a space heater, which didn't really seem to do much good. Friday, however, the electrician from the heating company called to say that he thought he could solve the problem. He arrived a little later, said that the breaker box, despite being the original one from when the house was built in 1968, was still good. He went off to get a new breaker to replace the one that controlled the furnace, returned in 30 minutes, and voilà the furnace roared back to life. So as I write this Saturday morning, we are back to normal, not bundled up huddled close to a space heater.
On other fronts, as I may have said, Mohamed has had his green card for two years. The first two years, though granting the privileges of work and travel, are "conditional," and after that time, one must apply for "removal of conditions." The point is to guarantee that green cards issued through marriage to a citizen have not been based on marriages of convenience. I had misread the instructions and thought that the new application should be submitted at least 90 days before the expiration of the old card. It didn't seem logical that the deadline was any time within the 90 days before the expiration since that wouldn't give the government sufficient time to evaluate the material before the green card expired. What happens, however, is that the materials are due in the 90 days before expiration, following which the CIS issues an automatic one-year extension. The next step occurs on March 7 when Mohamed goes to KC for biometrics, i.e., fingerprinting and eye scans. After that, if we're lucky, another interview will be waived, and the green card will be made permanent. There shouldn't be any reason for another interview, since the marriage is obviously a real one, but with the current anti-immigration and anti-Muslim sentiments, who knows?
Adventures in wildlife: a few months ago, we began hearing a gnawing sound from under the back deck. It's possible, as has happened before, for small animals to get under the deck. Rabbits frequently take refuge there from Kimber's now rather half-hearted attempts to capture them. Several years ago, I caught a rather nasty looking possum, which I named Flavio, and released him farther out in the country. This time, we finally went to the Department of Wildlife and borrowed a no-kill trap. After a couple of fruitless nights, Flavio, Jr., went for the bait (roast beef wrapped around some hummus, in case he was an ethnic type). We put the rather sweet possum in the car and released him at a state park. But then the gnawing returned. Flavio III? Mrs. Flavio? The question was answered when Mohamed took a load of laundry to the basement and discovered a giant dead rat that had gnawed its way into the basement and plummeted (conveniently) into a dustpan. Whether it died from the fall or from all the undigested wood and concrete is unknown. In either case, there are more pleasant experiences than finding a rat the size of a squirrel dead in your cellar.
