He just came home.

Lymphoma. All through his torso. 14 "bright spots that really got their attention" and "lots of little ones."

We see the surgeon for the consult for when to do the biopsy on Tuesday. If I get one jot of pushback on taking time off from work, there will be words.

he's been having this pain and trying to deal with it for nearly 2 years. One of the treatments he got gave him some relief, and he was told "If this help, then it's not cancer," and they gave him that treatment because the test would have cost thousands out of pocket. Though he's on Medicare for a fucking reason! But anyway. He apparently heard the wolf howl in my brain, because he asked me not to blame the doctors.

This is supposed to be very responsive to chemo, and he's had two bouts of cancer already in his life. And he's a mutant (truly, his body does not respond to things typically). People survive this stuff all the time.

Look, pyramids.

And he's far more worried about me.

Oh Connie. I'm so sorry. We are here for you.

Oh Connie, how hard. I hope it all goes as well as it can.

Connie, lymphoma DOES respond really well to chemo. It's -- if this is even something that can be said -- one of the "better" cancers to get, in terms of its responsiveness to chemo. One of my former co-workers had lymphoma and it went into remission with chemo. Not easy-peasy, but certainly beatable.

But that's clinical info, and doesn't really help you with the scary emotions right now. What can we do for you?

Oh, Connie. Fucking cancer.

God, just having someplace to say it flat out and swearing where I don't have to worry about Hubby finding out and fretting about it is a comfort.

I'm tired of having to be strong.

Fuck cancer. Fuck it right in its ugly little ears.

Oh, fucking hell, Connie. I'm so sorry.