Never Better

In a couple of weeks I'll be going back to Dublin for some more of the fancy radiotherapy I had last year. 
(SABR is it's official title, I've learned, which means stereotactic ablative radiotherapy, but also has a pretty appropriate meaning in Arabic).

I have to go back because there are two small white bits on my CT scans in my right lung. They've been there a while, on three scans in a row. They're a little bit bigger now than they were four months ago. 5mm now instead of 4. Or something weenchy like that. 

They could be cancer. They could be snot. They could be little pieces of popcorn I inhaled while I snoozed on the couch. 

I have metastatic cancer, cancer that spreads. Once the cat is out of the bag, you can never get it back in again. Even if the cat is really good at hiding, you know it's out there somewhere. (Let's not even get Shrodinger-y about this; my brain might burst).

So when stuff pops up that "could be cancer", the wise money is on it, in fact, being cancer. Not snot. Or popcorn. 

I could takes my chances and stand firm on the snotcorn theory. I could have another few scans and see does it suddenly leap out of the picture hissing and spitting, saying "I AM cancer you dumbass, what did you think I was? A misplaced salty cinema snack??" 

But the Too-Lateness of that is a little bit offputting.

So I will set the GPS for Poshville again and go for a few sessions of very expensive snotcorn removal.