Shake Yer Money Maker. (Like Somebody's Tryin' Ta Pay Ya.)

Tomorrow is the day. THE DAY. (In a string of many days that we thought would be THE DAY.) But since we get PET scan results and meet with the oncologist post-tumor board, I think this one officially ranks up there as one of the biggies.

Friday was PET scan day. So we dropped off the girls at their various engagements and headed to Lutheran Medical Center (ye olde stomping grounds) for a healthy dose of radioactive material. We checked in and then were ushered through a door with a skull-and-cross-bones sign (or more accurately, something like this:)
And we all know better than to go near that sign. Living near Rocky Flats as we do. But we casually walked through the door. No big deal. We do this all the time. And they pulled this huge stainless steel syringe from a locked box made of cryptonite. Then my mouth nearly dropped open to the floor when they INJECTED THAT SHIT STRAIGHT INTO MY DEAREST’S ARM. Shit-damn. That was freaky.

Once I recovered, I asked the tech what in the hell possessed him to pick this exact line of work. (Money.) And I asked if I could stay. He looked at me and said, “You’re not pregnant, are you?” I assured them that — god-help-me — I’m not. And he said, “Then you can stay. He’s the most radioactive for this next hour. But —by all means please feel free to snuggle right up to him while those juices flow.” And I’m thinking that if he can have that flowing straight through his veins then what kind of wimpy wife would I be to go and fetch a latte or something just to stay away from his green-glow-growing-two-heads-any-minute-self. No ma’am.

So there I sat, in the world’s most uncomfortable chair, in the dark, watching What Not to Wear while the hubby snoozed and turned into Superman.

(I didn’t go for the latte until after they kicked me out for the scan.)

Later I overheard this old lady (who got in trouble for chewing gum prior to her scan) ask about getting a CD of her images. So I hustled up there to get my own copy to take home. (My eavesdropping can certainly come in handy at times.) So after they did not one — but two — full scans of him (and 20 minutes turned into 45), we waited for our custom-made psycho thriller 3-D show of the hubby’s innards all lit up like a Christmas tree. And left for a little lunch at The Squeaky Bean. (We’d earned it.)

Much later when we tried to view the crazy pictures, it looked like the hubby didn’t have a brain. So we decided just to wait for the doctor’s verdict. Though I was convinced that I should be able to figure it out. (And maybe he doesn’t. JUST KIDDING LOVE BUG!)

So we forgot about that and moved on to the bigger and better business of the weekend. Farmer’s Market for peaches and breakfast Saturday morning. Then packed up the girls and caravanned with the Rock-es to some Folks Fest. Purse Girl and crew had set up camp, so they made it super easy for us to just show up and have fun (thank you one and all). We had a heavenly day by the river. Eating, drinking, letting the kids swim, and listening to some great music. The night ended with The Swell Season and bean sound asleep on the tarp. I can’t remember a more magical day. And to think it was all completely unplanned. With Eve R buying our tickets on impulse (because I knew I wouldn’t ever freakin’ do it) and then finding out that the Drunkels and the Rock-es were going too. And Carmen popping up with a dog walk offer. Perfection is serendipity.

Sunday we recovered and then took the girls to the creek for a short picnic and a swim. I think the last weekend of summer was a slam-dunk people. And that is how it should have effin’ been all effin’ summer. YOU KNOW?!?

FOOTNOTE: Our friends’ son was hit by a falling tree branch on Sunday night of the festival and his femur was crushed. He spent today in surgery and I’ve been thinking about them every second since Purse Girl texted me some pictures. It was a really, really scary and freak accident and I’m so relieved that he’ll be okay even if he does now have a cast up to his waist...life, oh life. Sending love to you, Links.

Today was the hustle-bustle of work/acupuncture appointments/school shopping/visit with miss-miss’ old babysitter who was visiting from Japan/dinner drop off and visit with True Blue. We sat on the front porch and watched the storm come in until a huge bolt of lightning hit a house (or looked like it did) and sent us all flying inside with the dog shaking like a leaf and miss-miss in TEARS. “It SCAY-RED ME!”

And tomorrow, the big day of miss-miss launching into 4th grade is a bit overshadowed by the surgeon appointment in Wheatridge at 10 (where we get said PET scan results) and then the oncologist appointment at 2:40 in which we get to find out what the tumor board said. And get our fate for the next six or so months SEALED.

As I tucked miss-miss in tonight, her new outfit and shoes all laid out and her hair carefully styled and straightened by M-O-I, she said, “Mom? Were you ever scared before your first day of school?” And though my reply was positively YES, my brain also added:but possibly never more than I will be for yours this year. And that’s the damned truth.

Shield on, people. We’re heading into battle.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Low Rising. The Swell Season. I wanna turn this thing around. I wanna drink with you all night till we both fall down.