Communication skills.

So I told you the SCCA lost my poo. It turns out they didn't. My results were in the system and they wanted to know why I submitted a second sample on Monday.

I rolled my eyes and explained that I had nothing better to do than crap in a a pair of 4 ounce cups twice a week. I also admitted to shoplifting enteric kits to support my habit. After all, the little "hats" sell for big bucks to local gay theater groups who need wardrobe simulations of a nun's headgear.

As punishment for abusing the system, they made me do another nasal wash, even though the symptoms haven't changed. Then they gave me another shot of "G" in spite of yesterday's transfusion.

Then I asked them what the plan was, because nobody has shared it with me even though I've asked. Apparently they've decided to graduate me on December 10th and release me to my regular oncologist (who only sees patients on Wednesdays now).

I made the mistake of opening my mouth again and mentioned that I wanted to go to Vancouver on December 13 for a few days. Apparently they think midtown Vancouver is somewhere in Kenya.

"What are you going to do if you get sick?"
"Go to the hospital. The closest one is 4 blocks and the biggest one is 6 blocks."
"Well, as long as you have a plan."

Ok, so here's the plan, just for the record.
PLAN OBJECTIVE: Don't die.
CONTINGENCIES:
1) Try not to get sick.
2) If you get sick, go to the hospital with Ed and get help.

Golly, I'm glad I wrote that down. The complexities are gonna require me to follow a script.

It's painfully obvious I need a vacation from the program. I've been on the leash too long. 27 months of uncertainty is stressing me out. Several months of living alone aren't helping. I wanna go HOME and that's wherever Ed is.

(BTW - we're still not "certain". My M-spike results won't be back until this Friday, and some of my serum results aren't what I'd hoped for. We're back to hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.)