round one

Today was the first time it felt like we were fighting. Up until now there has been plotting and measuring, and preparing and training, but knowing that today we were actually gonna be taking shots at it felt pretty good.

At least it did to me.

Rico had a rough night. He was understandably more apprehensive than I was about today. It is after all, his leg. On the other hand, I was ready to go after it with Dr. Mayo's rusty spoon the day we found out. Though I suppose radiation is a more humane (and effective) form of treatment - even if they are microwaving your quads.

We consider ourselves extremely fortunate that Mayo decided to build their radiation treatment center three blocks from our house. I remember us watching the construction site and saying to each other what a strange place it seemed to be for a cancer care center (to be fair it is in the middle of a cornfield). Today it didn't seem nearly so strange. Today we have new thoughts about things. If someone decides to build a nuclear fallout shelter in the park behind us, while manufacturing parachutes and an ebola vaccine in our basement, we will breathe not a word, and welcome them with open arms.

The treatment center comes equipped with a mini bar of coffees and teas and ciders and cookies. There are locker rooms, big screen TVs, squishy couches annnnnnnnnnd the world's most depressing library:

I always think I should bring one of these home to Yoda, and then I read it and realize that that none of these books depict what she's actually living with - so we haven't read any yet. We'll see.

But the thing that really captures my attention is the bell. It's like the bell at Arby's - you know when Steve makes you a really killer beef and cheddar and you ring the bell to thank him - it's like that - except better. Ringing the bell signifies you are done with treatment. And it's calling Rico's name.