Got the good word yesterday that my PET/CT scan was clear!  Remission, old friend, nice to see you again.  Last time I was in remission, I thought I was done with treatment and done with cancer.  This time, my “reward” is a stem cell transplant.  You can’t get a transplant (at least not on the protocol I’m following)  until you have a clear scan.  So, gold star.   I’ll take it, though.

I was holding off posting until my appointment with Dr. Spira today, hoping that I’d get some further information, but we spent most of the time talking about kids, vasectomies, and why he might be a girly-man for drinking Riesling with steak.   Rather than briefing me on the master plan, he is handing me off to the transplant team (Katrina the Transplant Coordinator, and The Eminent Doctor Orloff),  with whom I’ll talk on Monday for master planning purposes.

In the meantime, I’m off to work in the garden.  Spring is really doing its thing today in Northern Virginia, and as I am now definitely having the Worst. Summer. Ever. I’d like to get my hands in the dirt before I’m cut off from gardening.

Peter and I are going to wedding this weekend, and after much consultation, I will be sporting a black cocktail dress, Amazon-inspired jewelry, and a shiny bald head.  Tune in later for pictures of Mr. & Mrs Clean stepping out on the town.