It's Not A Problem Until It's A Problem.

Kevin is sick. Probably a virus. Sleep last night was interrupted by the frequent demands of a miserable body and tonight he came in from work and dropped, exhausted, on the Man Couch.

He's finally resting well; I'm not sure I'll even wake him to go to bed.

Probably a virus.

But the what ifs really struck me in the wee hours today as he made yet another tired trek from the bedroom.

I made him a salad for lunch yesterday and sliced fresh tomatoes for supper. With basil from our garden. Have I poisoned his still tired immune system with the uncooked food we avoided so carefully during the months of chemotherapy?

I wonder if I need to call Dr. Skinner. Three hundred and seventy-six days ago the idea of calling an oncologist for what appears to be a virus would have seemed ludicrous. Insane. Impossible--we didn't even know any oncologists.

Now I lay awake and weigh the evidence to decide if this is a little thing or a big thing. Big Thing includes anything related to cancer. A little thing is everything else.

I wait. He's drinking plenty, he's on his feet. There's time to see what this is, what it will be.

I wonder when do things become normal again? When is long enough for a cough to be just a cough? An ache just the natural groan of an aging body and not a sign of some new symptom or side effect?

I devoted more hours to this today than I wanted. I have, however, come to a realization.

Do not, as my grandmother would remind me, borrow trouble.

It's not a problem until it's a problem.