I love that Mott the Hoople song.

Well, Ernie and I are both are feeling the strings coming from our hands and feet. And honestly, it’s no different from any other time, so I’m not sure why. Maybe we’re just worn down a bit so we see the strings more clearly.

We had a phone consult with a radiation oncologist at Barnes yesterday. Good Lord, was that really only yesterday? Anyway, we liked him a lot. He talked about different options. The plan is to get Ernie a fancy-schmancy scan called a PSMA PET scan that you can’t get at a lot of hospitals and this will give them a better picture to know if and what kind of radiation options are possible.

Later, the medical oncologist, Pachynski, called Ernie. Ernie didn’t feel me psychically urging him to put the phone on speaker so I just sat and watched him as he talked and Hattie came up and just pushed her head against my knee. I love that stinky, creaky little old thing.

To the best of my understanding, the plan for a cystoscopy to do the biopsy was nixed. Now they’re talking to gastro and we have an appointment for an ultrasound-guided colonoscopy to see what’s what. Everything’s so damn close together down there, it gets complicated.

Ernie’s latest scan shows his tumor has grown by several centimeters so I would just like to get this show on the road. They always remind me how slow prostate cancer moves, but eh.

It’s hard to feel as though you have any control over your life.

Marionette. I ain’t one yet.

A few pictures because this can’t be an all-cancer blog.

The daffodils are up
Sweet pea visited


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