Today is your tenth round of chemo. (I'd say something pithy like "only two more rounds after this to go," but I won't. Because no one likes pithy crap like that.)
I will say, however, that you continue to rock. And you continue to be strong and nonchalant and such a GUY about this whole thing. To which I can hear you say, "I've just gotta get it done. What choice do I have?" I can also hear you say, "I'm really gonna need you to stop blogging about me, Keel."
And while I can't do that- I really just can't- I can present pictures of us like this to the world:
This is the famed Edaville Railroad picture. And I was not having it, whatever "it" was supposed to be. And yet you never flung me onto a train track or handed me to a station attendant.
I appreciate that, Dad, I really do. That's just good parenting.
And I'm gonna go ahead and hazard this theory: if a guy can handle his pointy-hatted two year old having [what was apparently] the worst tantrum of the century in a public (and Festive, Dammit!) locale, then he can for sure handle another round of chemo.
Hang in there, Dave ["Keel," you continue to say].
You can do this.
And I can guarantee that this treatment won't be as noisy as I was.