The last several weeks have been "interesting," in the same sense that the word "interesting" is used in the ancient Chinese curse most often translated as "May you live in interesting times."

Briefly, I had a physical exam at the end of March, which included the usual blood samples and such.  There was an anomaly on the blood tests:  an elevated white cell count.  My new primary care physician here in Huntsville was almost apologizing that he found it necessary to refer me to an oncologist as a result of our first meeting, but I assured him that I'd much rather know things than not know.  Now, three weeks later, we have a definitive diagnosis.

I have Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia.  It's sometimes referred to as "old peoples' leukemia," and my oncologist tells me that at this point it is far more likely that something else will cause my death, many years from now, than that the leukemia will kill me.  We know it is of relatively recent onset, but we do not yet know how fast the disease is progressing.  So I go back to the clinic in a month's time for more blood tests to check progress.

There are some positive notes:  after a rather thorough CT scan there is no significant involvement of my lymph nodes or spleen.  My white cell count did not change significantly over the last two weeks time.  The genetic fluorescence assay indicates that I have only two of the mutations commonly seen in CLL, and one of those correlates with long survival times.  I do not have the mutation on chromosome 17 that can make this condition into a dangerous, fulminating one.

CLL in many cases is a condition that is monitored, but not treated.  When treatment is required, in most cases it is oral chemotherapy that lacks the pernicious side effects we commonly associate with the chemotherapies used for more acute cancers.  So at this point I have every expectation of going on for a good many more years.

At present, I am told that all I need do is live my normal life, but that I do need to start being a little more careful about the possibility of infections, since a major part of my immune system is now compromised to some degree.

As I said, it's been an interesting time.

I'm not upset about having my mortality rubbed in my face.  No, I got over that long, long ago, after a chilly January morning in 1979 when a parachute jump went bad.  I even got to meet the Morrighan that morning, (which was years before I consciously became pagan and realized just Who it was that had been laughing that horrible braying laugh in the back of my head that day.)  These days, I figure that every day is a gift.  There's even a trite bit of doggerel about that in the animated film, Kung-Fu Panda:

"Yesterday is history,
Tomorrow is a mystery.
Today is a gift:
That's why they call it The Present !"

So tomorrow morning I'm going to get up and open up my present and see what it's like.  And the day after that, I'm going to do it again.  And again, and again.  And I expect to keep doing it for a good long while yet.

Now, the rest of you, go off and do something fun.  And no moping, dammit!