Number Theory

Today I plugged my remaining chemo cycles into a calendar and I was surprised to learn that at this point the oncologists expect to pump me full of toxins for the rest of the year. My last cycle is literally scheduled for New Year's Eve. 

Maybe it's just me, but July 30 to December 31 strikes me as way too long to be undergoing chemotherapy. And when I think New Year's Eve events, I don't really think chemotherapy. Party? Maybe. Dinner? Sure. Chemotherapy? Not by a long shot. 

So given that a) I am completely and totally unwilling to extend my chemotherapy (which, recall, is not intended to cure me) into 2015, and b) I am not spending New Year's Eve being poisoned, I'm thinking it's time to rethink the twelve cycle protocol. According to the the last oncologist it's just a guideline anyway, so maybe eleven is just as good a guideline. 

Besides, I've always liked the number eleven. Ocean's Eleven was a pretty good movie. 7-11 stores are very convenient when you need a quick sandwich or a package of Ho Hos. Spinal Tap's amplifiers went to eleven. Eleven is the atomic number for sodium, which is a pretty useful element. Eleven's a good number. Eleven cycles of chemotherapy ought to be good as well.

And let's not forget that twelve already has a plenty significant role in the universe. Twelve months in a year. Twelve hours on the clock. Twelve signs on the zodiac. Twelve function keys on a PC keyboard. With the minor exception of our numbering system, twelve controls everything. 

Eleven needs me. Twelve couldn't care less. It's always nice to be needed.