The "C" Word

Sooooo...today could have been better. We were waiting on Tony's test results and had fully convinced ourselves that everything was A-OK. I, being my blissfully ignorant self, was pleasantly surprised to see Tony home early, until I saw his face, and I knew before he said anything that we were dealing with "the C word."

I handled the news with dignity and grace (and by dignity and grace, of course, I mean sobbing, snot, and blubbering). God love him, he had to repeat everything about four times just so I could comprehend what he was saying.

The good doc says it is squamous cell carcinoma, a type of skin cancer. He will be having his tonsils removed next Friday (1/22), and they will also be taking various other bits from the throat, gums, and God-knows-where-else in an attempt to identify where this mess started. Neither of us are particularly looking forward to this, but we are anxious to know exactly what's going on in there.

After my initial...ahem, "grace and dignity," I did a little better. We (for the most part) have settled into a hearty "Let's nip this in the bud" attitude. As we ate dinner, I became a little perturbed that we now had to contend with "the C word." I pictured the little orange monster from the Weight Watchers commercials hopping onto the kitchen table and staring at us. I resented the intrusion. And so, little orange monster, cute though you may be...now you must die. :)