No news

No matter how sternly I glare at the cell phone, cursing at it in my mind, it refuses to ring. "Ring, would you?" I think. Still, no phone call from Reese's oncologist. We know that the PET scan was read by the radiologist, received by the office, and faxed to Dr. Minow at his hotel today. Poor guy, he deals with cancer patients all day, so I know his vacation is well earned. He could be hiking in the Alps or scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, I don't even know. I just want to find out if my husband still has cancer or not. I'm no good at waiting.

The bright side is that Reese is definitely perking up, physically and mentally. Chips, salsa, and the first beer you've had in 10 weeks while watching the Lakers with your brother will do that for you. He's only had a little bit of pain the past two days and has slept well, which makes a big impact on his mood. He's getting his sarcasm back, which is always a good sign.