My status was "watch and wait." This never sounded good to me. I thought about those celibate guards on Game of Thrones who stood on the icy wall watching and waiting for that creepy killer. I felt like Vladimir and Estrogen waiting for God knows what.
Every two or three months I'd go for blood tests. They were always considered "stable."
(What about those monocytes?" I'd ask. "Yeah, these things go up and down," my doctor told me.)
My doctor gave me two solid pieces of advice. He told me to limit my drinking to four drinks a week. I did so and my red cell numbers improved. I could walk without stopping for breath.
He also told me to go ahead with a long planned, two month trip to Italy. I had arranged tiny apartments all over northern and southern Italy and intended to spend several days in each spot exploring on foot. I will be forever thankful for that trip, which was my second in as many years--a compromise with my wife, Rebecca, who, who couldn't spend the months I wanted to spend abroad, but who came to join me for stays in Rome, Naples, and Sicily. The trip did me a world of good. I (then we) walked for miles every day. We climbed various heights in Naples and Taormina. We heard great Jazz and ate aranciate in Palermo. We ate burgers in Messina while a religious parade passed nearby. We went to our favorite dive restaurant in Rome and dove into their delicious beef and pasta. I came home stronger than I'd been in a while.
Then I realized it was time to get more blood tests. Normally they'd remind me and work out a time. This time nothing. I called and found out the doctor was gone. No one had told me so I didn't ask where to find him. Instead I called a "Center of Excellence" (a really reputable cancer clinic) and made an appointment to continue watching and waiting there.
I hoped I would be watching and waiting forever--or at least until something else got me.
It was not to be.
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