Thursday, September 13, 2007


Well, Bratworse's cyst turned out to be a tumor and while the prognosis is good, there's always a feeling of Damocle's sword when the big C is being bandied about.

The tumor hadn't mestatacized into an actual cancer, but it seems likely if we hadn't taken it out. I told Bratworse that our being together was meant to be. If she hadn't been with a hypochondriac, she probably would still have the tumor inside her.

In all actuality, I probably have a higher chance of getting cancer than her since I was a smoker for almost 30 years. But that's neither here nor there.

This helps focuses us a bit. We don't ever want to waste time being miserable or unhappy. I look at people around us, like some of our neighbors and just wonder how they manage to go on with their own misery hanging about them like a cloud.

There may be other changes in store as well. The wedding may be moved up now to next year instead of 2009.

By the way, our friend the Panamaniac told us that catching this tumor at this stage was like a blind outfielder catching a fly ball. :)



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