Within only hours remaining before reporting to a meeting with my onco-pros, our beloved Volvo cancer therapy car named Moose just stopped working.
The fuel pump decided to go end-stage on me and I found myself an ad hoc traffic controller for people totally put out for having to thread their way around an old, white Volvo and being the keeper of the flashing emergency lights on this disabled car.
After a short wait, the wrecker came and hauled the beloved Moose to our trusted mechanic for a diagnosis and a staging meeting.
With some serious mechanical intervention, Moose was finally declared ready to go home this afternoon to await the next round of tests. Moose was not ‘cleared’ and was told to be positive and accept the eventual outcome.
With my post-PET scan conference taking place tomorrow down at Penn Medicine, I could possibly be excused for diving into the murky waters of the metaphor pool and coming up with a concerned look on my face and a shard of a story to tell based upon this series of events today.
Or, I should just be positive and accept my eventual outcome. Metaphor or reality?