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As my late mother would have suggested after reading four consecutive weeks of Kenny's column being on the same subject: the second degree burns on my feet, I am finally moving on.
As I approach my four-week anniversary of "the burning," I do so with cautious optimism that one day soon, I'll be walking upright once again and doing so without the assistance of my walker.
As the month of May was swept away with the last of the network-season's original programming, those of us still in lockdown and quarantining had our own reality to embrace: there was nothing new on network television.
(Again, not a cancer column. Given the title, it would be a pretty gruesome reference to my life in the cancer world if it were.)
(Not a cancer column.)
And the "Scancer" Is... ...stable, with a side of shrinkage, however modest.
After each individual appointment with my oncologist, either virtual or in person, all my prescription needs and my next round of appointments are scheduled while I wait.
(All these times are approximate – or they're not.
...and I suppose life is back on, especially for those of us who have been vaccinated.
Recently, I made the mistake of clicking on an email from an unfamiliar sender.
As I discussed a few weeks back, having all this time off/apart from cancer-related activities is unsettling in a peculiar way.
From the moment you hear the word cancer spoken in your direction – from your new best friend, an oncologist with whom you've had zero previous interaction, you are transported to a new reality.
As previously referred to in a recent column, even though I am hardly cancer-free, nonetheless I am cancer interruptus for the next four weeks.
Have I mentioned in print lately that we, resident owners of "Belly Acres" in Burtonsville, are back to being a five-indoor-cat household?
You know the expression: "Can't walk and chew gum at the same time,” a disparaging characterization of a person, company or municipality unable to multi-task or even task at all?
I'm sort of invoking Southwest Airlines here, but not exactly.
What are all these "Toe Nail Clipper" emails I receive nearly every day?
So this is what it's like to be out of the house and driving around: mask on, surgical gloves in the console, hand sanitizer in the glove box; not so different than before my two Covid-19 vaccinations.
Sure enough, the email from my oncologist didn't arrive in my inbox before we left for the weekend away on Friday.
Ordinarily, I'd be writing this column this weekend – after this week's events.