Good News!!!!

We just got back from the Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa. The news is all good. Although the melanoma was fully double the depth they originally estimated, the removal of the toe . . . sorry if you are squeamish . . . eliminated any chance of leaving any errant cells behind. And . . . the sentinel lymph nodes that they removed, proved to all be negative, meaning it had not spread. Does the news get any better???? I think not. Thank you, Lord.

Now for the toe jokes. You have to understand that the kind people over at Moffitt do nothing but deal with cancer and it's devastating effects all day long. So to survive, they have a little fun here and there. As we checked in for our appointment, Frank was kidding around with Kymberly, one of the receptionists . . . the same one we've dealt with the last two times. She finally decided it was safe to let loose with a goodie. Who do you call when you lose a toe? A toe (tow)-truck!!! Groan, I know. Bad. But cracked us up none the less. So Frank, to get even, retells his goodie from our doctors office. When we went to have the bandage changed, the nurse was carefully removing the bandages and gets down to the last one which apparently left one little fiber behind. Frank, with a straight face, looks at the nurse and says, "Careful, if you pull that string, another toe falls off." Double groan.

And now under the heading of you know I love him if . . . We have two cars. His three year old Vette and my nine year old Miata. After trying them both out for size, the obvious choice for comfort was to take the Vette to Tampa . . . with me driving. Now in three years, I can literally count on one hand, the number of times he has let me drive his baby. We made it as far as the gas station to tank up . . . one block away . . . before he said, "Get your @ss out of that seat. I'm driving." To which I replied. "No! and stuck my tongue out at him." I wish you could have seen the man's head at the other pump swivel. Frank and I just lost it. So much for our auspicious start. The trip over there was uneventful.

On the way home, things started heading down hill. We were getting tired. His foot was starting to rebel. We hit rush hour traffic, some idiot cut us off with inches to spare and to top things off, his message light kept coming on announcing that his left rear tire was losing pressure. Even though he has run-flat tires, doing the interstate in excess of 70 mph, is not the best of options. We pulled over to add air and limped the rest of the way home. He is distraught. His baby is in the garage . . . ailing.

And the highlight . . . other than being cancer free of course . . . As we hit Tampa early, we stopped at Five Guys for lunch. Ignoring the fat content, we noshed down on THE best hamburgers and fries ever.

(In answer to your question . . . yes, I take my camera everywhere.)