My last column found me gently knocking on death's door. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the hinges stubbornly refused to budge. As my strength returns, I see no entourage of angels. Certainly no grim reaper. Just laundry and dirty dishes.

Dr. Stead, my oncologist, just called to remind me I need chemotherapy to help contain the bone metastasis. She asked when I was coming in, not "if." I told her I was still trying to psyche myself up for it. I think she knew I wouldn't call her first.

Dr. Nancy White Stead is a brilliant, petite, lively, young doctor who is married to a surgeon. You would never suspect that she were a physician to see her in street clothes away from a medical setting. Though quite professional, she has an innocent, bubbly personality with a unique girlish voice. My first impression of her two years ago was that she would be a good model for a "Barbie" doctor set. After she gave me my initial new patient physical, I came away feeling I was in very competent hands. She found creases, cracks, spots and orifices I didn't know existed or had forgotten about. If Dr. Stead needed a second job, she would make a great strip search officer for illicit drugs.

After carefully answering my questions regarding the side effects of Aredia, Dr.Stead convinced me to come in Monday. Buddy is going to take our light-weight recliner because the drip takes four hours. At least this particular chemotherapy won't cause me to lose my hair. It's supposed to make me feel like I have the flu for a few days. Then in a month I get to do it all over again.

Guess I have learned to never say never. Until the pain became intolerable, my plan was to ride this paling horse to the end of the trail without any further surgery, radiation, or chemotherapy. Last month I agreed to more surgery to replace my porta-cath. A second round of radiation zapped the spine. Now comes the dreaded chemotherapy.

Monday morning I will go outside and look for a frog in the creek that runs through our property. Somebody told me that if you eat a live frog in the morning, nothing worse will happen to either of you the rest of the day.