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Okay, so here's the deal. When I first started this blog I had more on my mind than I ever imagined possible. And when I would sit down to write, the thoughts, words, ideas and feelings would simply flow out of my fingertips like water crashing over the edge of a cliff. My writing was energized by the drama of my life and the writing was, at times, worthy of reading, if not by anyone else then, at the very least, by myself. I've never once given thought to writing a book, but feedback from friends indicated that, perhaps, I should. I've never considered myself to be a "gifted" writer (although thanks to Pat Esrael and Bernice Hopkins, the two greatest English teachers that the universe has ever beheld, I am capable of writing "well"), but feedback from friends implied that I was. Despite the fact that it certainly made me smile and wonder, I'm fairly certain that I didn't let this feedback/praise go to my head. But here's the thing: What on earth do I write about now that my life has returned to normal?

I've gotten a few emails, letters, facebook notes saying "haven't seen anything new on your blog in a while...hoping everything is okay...." and I instantly morphe into guilt-mode. I do apologize - and hope you know that "no news is good news" - but I suppose I could have been a bit more considerate in letting you know how everything's been going. In a word, it's FINE. I had a follow-up with my surgeon, who seems very pleased with the outcome. I was seen by my oncologist on December 29 and he made us happy by reconfirming the decision that chemotherapy was not warranted. In the next couple of months I'll have an endoscopy just to make sure that the upper GI-tract tissue is healthy and, at some point soon I'll be seen (again) by a geneticist to see if further testing is called for although, if you were to ask me, I'd have to honestly tell you that I'm not sure WHY. Genetic testing, done this past summer, and further testing done on my tumor in November, all indicated that I do not carry the genetic mutation for HNPCC (the gene that is linked to colon cancer), so why we're engaging in further testing at this point escapes me. I can tell you, however, that the geneticist I'm seeing, Dr. Mengden, is one of the most fascinating people I've ever met.

I had a couple of apppointments with him last June/July and, while talking with Dr. Mengden I found myself wondering why on earth this man couldn't have been at all of the boring social functions I've been to over the years? You know those functions where you find yourself standing in a room, a small plate of miniature food held tightly in one hand, a cocktail napkin wedged between two of your fingers, and a drink balanced precariously on top of the plate and underneath your thumb, while you shake hands with a total stranger and then engage in a 20-minute conversation with this person you'll, in all liklihood, never see again? And all the while you're saying polite and socially appropriate things while, in your mind, you're wishing you could be a thousand other places? Well this guy, this genetics wunderkind, is precisely the person I'd love to be stuck in a room with. He's fascinating and quirky and, okay, quite intelligent (ever hear of a dumb geneticist? I didn't think so.), and he seems to know a little bit of everything. Dr. Mengden is an older gentleman, with smooth, grey hair, kind eyes that hold a spark and a passion for his work, and an ease and confidence in his interactions with other humans. He doesn't sit you on an examination table and pepper you with overly intellectual data while you stare blankly and pretend to comprehend any of the words flowing out of his mouth. Instead, he's the kind of doctor who comes to the waiting room to greet you, and invites you directly to his office. He's the kind of doctor who talks WITH you, not AT you, and he immediately welcomes you into his 'inner sanctum'. He doesn't walk around in a lab coat with a stethoscope dangling around his neck, visual trappings that say "I'm a doctor and an expert and you, sadly, are not". Instead, he meets his patients on their level, and everything about him seems to say "Hey, we're in this together". And for some reason, the fact that he has dozens of little butterfly bodies pinned to foamcore and displayed, in frames, throughout his office just makes me laugh. Like I said, he's quirky - and utterly fascinating - and despite the fact that I have no idea why I'm being sent to see him again, I'm looking forward to the appointment. If I could show up with a plate of miniature food and a glass of pinot grigio, all the better!

Hmmm. I just reread the initial paragraph of this post. What do I write about now that my life has returned to normal? I guess I just found the answer: Anything.