Cancer prognosis is like predicting the weather in Northeast Florida.  You really don't know what you are going to get until you actually see it through the window.  The good news for me is that I have been taken off chemotherapy for two weeks.  The bad news is that we don't know if frying my throat to extra-crispy and flooding my blood stream with toxic cell-killing chemo drugs has actually done anything to the cancer.  So yesterday the doctor told me we want to "get my strength back," "gain some weight (I lost 14 pounds)" and then take a look at the cancer and start some more chemo.  In other words, we'll give your system a couple weeks rest before we know what's happening and zap it again with the chemo bomb.  One of the more gloomy habits I have take up is to read a couple of cancer blogs each day (I will post my opinion of cancer blogs in the future, don't miss it).  Some bloggers write about their chemo going on for years!   I can't think of anything worse.  So we have to deal with one of the most aggravating things about cancer treatment: uncertainty, what’s happening?  Tomorrow’s forecast:  "40 percent chance of thunderstorms."  Maybe it would be better to express it as 60 percent chance of sunshine.