Today the results of my gene sequencing were the topic of discussion with my favorite oncologist. We had hoped that a specifically identifiable mutation would have shown up, qualifying me for targeted therapy, but in the generally disappointing fashion of Things That Don’t Go Your Way, none such mutations came to the party. Not that they were invited in the first place, since I have a tendency to leave the Truly Annoying and Unwelcome off the list, but when there is a fifty/fifty chance that your unwanted guest will be easier to evict, you do find yourself hoping for that loophole. Or at least I did. But really, fifty/fifty is a flip of the coin, and I got tails.

So I am going to start the more traditional chemo. This is inconvenient for a number of reasons. I mean, I will have to be on a strict schedule for, well, possibly the rest of my life, or at least as long as the benefits outweigh the risks (as my doctor put it with appropriate bluntness and a smile). Of course, travel plans will be difficult. And the prospect of being tired or nauseous for up to a third of my life seems kind of stupid. But wait: others have walked this road successfully before me. The path is well worn. While the annoyance factor is way up, is it really so bad?

We all have crappy things to face in life, but that doesn’t make it any less worth living. Not to be crass, but at least I wasn’t hit by a bus or infected with Ebola far from medical help. Sure, those things are occasionally survivable, but my thing has an industry devoted to keeping me alive and a growing number of survival stories each year. So sign me up for treatment. Sign me up for my the week drip. I’ve got good veins (the doc said so, again with that smile).