Phase One: Done... Farewell FuFu

Thursday was Christmas... at least for the Clot. The Clot has been counting down on our own peculiar advent calendar, and we thought this day would never arrive. Thursday was Dennis' last day of radiation! No more zapping, singeing, raying, roasting or toasting. We can finally dispense with the motto: "Another day, another ray!" And if that isn't enough to jingle your bells, it is also the day when he is disconnected from his Fu-Fu bag, and his PICC line is PICC'ed!

Farewell to fufu, goodbye to gemcytobene, sayonara to Saran Wrap, and au revoir to radiation.

We are all so excited that we planned a grand procession with juggling clowns, a parade of synchronized elephants, and a fireworks display. However, the security squad at the Huntsman Institute thought that perhaps the clowns might be a little disruptive to the other infusees, and the elephants might deposit debris which exceeds the housekeeping capabilities of the custodial staff. And because of stringent fire codes, perhaps the pyrotechnics should be postponed. Hey, there was a certain perverted logic to that. Not a problem.We modified our grand celebration scheme. We went home, juggled bottles of Ensure, marched in synchronized lock-step around our kitchen bar and lit a candle.

In honor of the occasion, we have made the ultimate salute: The Clot has called a 24-hour moratorium on harsh language (except in reference to the mass), any specific reference to Dennis' bodily functions, bodily noises or bodily parts. Oh my! I hope our intentions haven't exceeded our capabilities.

Our house was decorated with brightly-colored balloons and leis hung in the trees. It almost looks as if the fireworks were captured in a rapid-speed camera photograph... a still-life. This is a very good day!

We were also thinking of kissing off the 7 Mutated Nausea Dwarfs, but we have become rather fond of those little rascals - especially Pissy. He has an honorary place in the heart of the Clot.

Today we must also say farewell to new old friends and technicians, who know Dennis inside and out, and have seen the Clot in varying degrees of disarray. We greatly underestimated the difficulty of that little task. For so long now our lives have have been measured out by the daily treks to the Huntsman Cancer Institute and weekly infusions of gemcytobene and iron. And there is a solidarity the evolves among those who have shared adversity. We are not sure now how we'll sculpt the coming weeks, but we do know every hour will be mealtime. ("Auschwitz Chic" is so passe!) Soon Dennis will think of "week" as a measure of time, not a condition spelled with an "a."

Through it all, Dennis has been a "rock," literally and figuratively. In fact, we strongly suspect he has been taking spiritual steroids. But, he "will be back"...and that is written in stone. As Ramses always said, "So let it be written. So let it be done!" (A Yul Brynner moment probably best appreciated by those who grew up thinking Charlton Heston really was Moses.)

Perhaps in the coming weeks the Clot can finally discard the two mantras that have so dictated our daily life:

1. DO NOT GET ON THAT SCALE!

2. DO NOT LOOK IN THAT MIRROR!

That would be good.