exit 9 . . .

Tomorrow I have to drag the 9TS kicking and screaming back over to Tampa for his four month PET scan.  He seriously does not like sitting around for three hours in temperatures meant only for meat lockers so he can be stuck in a claustrophobic tube to have his paper wrapped body scanned from head to foot.  But, it needs to be done and he knows it so he grumbles and follows the rules. 

Then we need to run some quick errands for things available in the big city that are impossible to find in our backwater town . . . like this perfect Mexican type dip from the cheese deli.  Yummo! 

A little lunch and then back to Moffitt for our meeting with Dr. Z.  In the five years we've been battling Mela and his cousin Noma, we've learned a couple of things about Dr. Z:

1.  If he doesn't show and our meeting is hosted by his side kick Chris, it's excellent news. 

2.  If it is Dr. Z who pops his head through the door, the news is not so hot and we hear the dreaded, "We'll this wasn't what you hoped to hear."

3.  If the news is really bad, he will tell us he has to wait for the official readings and take the info to their board meeting and will let us know in a couple of days.  This is his polite way of saying, "Oh, crap!"  "I need time to line up whichever oncology specialist we will need this go round."

Not that we don't like Dr. Z. but you can understand our penchant for Chris.  Good, funny, reliable, hardworking, not getting stuck delivering the bad news . . . Chris. 

And so dear readers, if you say little prayers or send out good vibes or think good thoughts, or stick pins in evil voodoo dolls, we could really use some good juju.  Please.  Thank you.  Amen.