The Normal and Not-So Normal Life

I keep thinking I should write something profound, eloquent and poetic about these past few days. Or maybe it should be a blistering rant about the unfairness of everything. But I can't seem to find the right rhythm. We're staring our philosophies in the face. Roger says, "Well if it's metastasized, I'm toast." Yes, that's the horrible truth. We've read the survival statistics for that scenario and they are absolutely grim. We won't know for a while yet what the status is on that large mass because the gastroenterologist and the surgeon are concentrating on determining how to treat the smaller lesion. Even though it may or may not be cancerous (the biopsy on that one has been sent to another lab for a second opinion), it still needs to be removed. If it's not malignant can it be taken out piecemeal during additional colonoscopies? Should it be removed surgically? These are the questions.

The surgeon is a wonderful, avuncular older man. If he wasn't a surgeon he'd make a very good soft-spoken pediatrician. Roger said he felt like a child, when this tall man raised the examining table and then gently bent to listen to his heart. The surgeon explained how he would perform the surgery, recommending a full opening rather than the more popular smaller incision for laparoscopy. He told us that patients come in after reading the internet, and ask for laparscopic surgery. He doesn't think that's the best way to go in these situations. We trust his experience on this. Yes, of course, he should open Roger up "larger than his hand" and do the work that needs to be done. Our mantra is: Fix This Now.
On trying to maintain life here in the normal way: Roger moved the bird feeder Thursday afternoon. We've been chasing the squirrels for a few days, after they figured out how to leap from the rocks to just above the squirrel-proof baffle. Hah, it is truly baffling how they figure that stuff out with their little rodent brains. The little blind and lame squirrel (pictured above) stopped showing up two days ago. He hadn't been looking very well lately. My twin brother said I should call Wildlife Rehabilitation and Release to pick the little fellow up. I said, "No I don't think so. Why deprive some coyote its natural meal?" Poor little thing. He was limping all the time, a real wreck of a creature. I often put out secret little stashes for him, hoping to cure him with extra food. Sometimes he even found them, and I would clap and sing.
The plan for now: The next appointment with the surgeon is Tuesday. Supposedly the pathology report will be back from the lab at the University of Washington. Then there really will be a plan on how to restore Roger back to his good health.

Stupid colon. Stupid cancer. Stupid labs. Stupid squirrel.