In Which I Discover I Don't Even Do Cancer Right

So...  good news and bad news. 

Met with my oncologist today, and told her that I really needed to go ahead and file my paperwork for disability retirement.  I've been doing full-time telework, and trying to make it work, but it's time - I'm running out of leave, the office has hired someone who can fill in behind me, and I'm wiped out.  In talking with my Human Resources office, they said that I should just have her fill out the paperwork, say that I've got ULMS, that it's terminal, send it in to OPM, bing, bang, it'll be over with. 

Not so fast.  Here's the good news - well, great news really.  My doctor is starting to think that my cancer is so atypical that it may not be terminal.  She thinks that I may actually survive this, since it's been 2 1/2 years and he has not been moving.  I know - it's incredible news that frankly, I'm still processing - I've spent 2 1/2 years thinking of myself as dead girl walking, and now... I'm not.

However, it means I'm chronic girl walking.  Which means lots more paperwork.  So I've got to go to my GP and have her document all my other embarrassments - the diabetes, the incontinence, the breath thing, the arthritis, and all the rest.  It'll take a little more time, but then again, I was feeling morose about the whole prospect anyway, so... I guess it's great news and not so bad news. 

But this whole thing could have been avoided if I just had done cancer right in the first place, retired to my fainting couch and filed for disability back when they still thought I was terminal.  Or managed to be less... atypical.  Nah...  I like atypicality.  It suits me.  Kind of like being the neon-pink sheep of the family.  And guess what - Looks like I'm going to be around to be atypical for a good long time.  What the heck - Grandma managed to make it to 96 after being diagnosed at 47.  I'll have to see if I can beat her record.  Just 47 more years to go.  I can do that standing on my he... well, sitting in my comfy chair.

More Moose Issues

Yesterday, as I was giving up one of his mandatory belly rubs, I noticed something worrisome on Moose.  Now, it's not odd to find something odd on Moose's belly - between the liver spots and the raccoon scars and the odd fatty lumps of unknown origin, there's not much that's not odd, but... Right at the end of his penile sheath, there was a zit. 

I admit, I'm a horrible mother - my first thought was "Thank god he's a dog - I don't have to have "THE TALK" with him."  Relatively certain this isn't Herpes Duplex 13 or whatever the equivalent dog STD is - for one thing, he really doesn't hang with loose bitches, and for another, he's been neutered for 11 years now. 

It also led to one of the odder conversations that Roger and I have ever had...  when he got home last night, I mentioned something about it, using my usual clinical speech, and he just looked at me and said "You want me to look at my wiener's wiener?"  Yes, honey.  I want you to keep a watchful eye on your wiener's wiener.