Literally and figuratively. On today’s docket is laundry, getting The Girl to clean her room, and working on the long overdue port (ha! cancer pun!) of my CaringBridge content over to its own section of this site. I’ve decided to dedicate time each day of NaBloPoMo to these updates. With any luck, I’ll have it ready to go live by the end of the month. That’ll feel good. I think. I find myself surprised by the constant need for closure with this. I have about 3.5 years to go before I’m considered cured, and I wonder if even then, I’ll stop worrying. Every little virus has me thinking “Is it back?” I’m glad to realize that each time this happens, I worry about it for less time, but I do still worry. Who wouldn’t, right?

It doesn’t help that I just found out that Alla – my hematologist-oncologist – my savior – has been out for a while and is coming back only part-time. Knowing that she was always at the other end of an email (even if I never sent it) has been my reassurance. But now, I don’t know how much I can or can’t count on her. If I did ever have a recurrence, how much could I rely on her? How much would I be forced to start over with a doc who doesn’t know me, doesn’t get me like she did from the moment we met? I don’t have an appointment with her until December, so I can’t get any of these questions answered until then – whatever has her stepping back is undoubtedly personal, and I know that no one is going to spill her beans if I ask, so there’s no point. I just have to wait.

So, going about my day, I was trying to think of an image to represent my day. I wasn’t sure what to do, that is, until I went to Target and saw this:

Not what one expects to see at Target. I felt kind of badly, because the dog didn’t exactly seem happy. But, still, I couldn’t help laughing. Especially at the dude dressed like Popeye, giving the dog commands in nautical-speak (Sailor, forward; Sailor, port). Apparently, the dog belongs to a vet (not sure if Popeye is said vet or not), and they do this every so often for kicks. Ah, the things one misses when normally avoiding stores on the weekend.

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