Where are we going? And how will we get there?

    When it comes to psychological questionnaires, I tend to be more than a bit skeptical.  All those acronyms and the accompanying psycho-babble just give me hives.  And, on principle, I resist the notion of putting people into little bitty boxes with labels on them.

    But, I have to admit, I have a guilty pleasure: I've taken various online versions of the Myers-Briggs inventory.  It's just kind of fun.

    Sometimes, the results come back telling me I'm an ENFJ.  Ok, so it's an acronym, but I like it when the internet comes back to tell me I'm a member of this helpful group of people.  Here's one description of these folks:

    Warm, empathetic, responsive, and responsible. Highly attuned to the emotions, needs, and motivations of others. Find potential in everyone, want to help others fulfill their potential. May act as catalysts for individual and group growth. 

    Ah, isn't this sweet to find yourself so described?  An ENFJ is commonly called The Teacher.  Kind of fits, since I've been in academia for so very long. 

    But, truth be told, sometimes when I take one of these inventories, I'm find out  that I'm an ENTJ instead.  Those of you who know the Myers-Briggs (or me) are already hooting.  For this is the type known as:

The Field Marshall

    This fits, too, I have to admit.  A "teacher field marshall" is, after all, a pretty apt job description for a college dean.
    Since I buy my clothes in the petites department, though, I maybe I should substitute this photo:

    Another Field Marshall

    This isn't to say that all ENTJs are guys.  Oh no, women can be field marshalls, too:

  

    Still Another Field Marshall

    

Hoo boy.

    Supposedly, less than 2% of the U.S. population could be categorized as ENTJs.  The other 98% are saying, Thank god!

   Sometimes, though, it's handy to have a little ENTJ blood running through your veins, I'm discovering.  Getting proton beam therapy lined up for a spouse is definitely turning out to be one of those times.  

   Here's what we've managed to make happen so far:

1.  X-rays, CT scans and MRIs too numerous to count, PET scans.

2.  Bloodwork--who even knows what all those tests have been.

3.  A modified barium swallow.

4.  Multiple offices visits with his PCP, his neurologist, two different neurosurgeons, an immunologist, a speech specialist, an otolaryngologist, and some other people I've already forgotten. 

5.  A needle biopsy--a big kahuna

6.  The compilation of the Encyclopedia of P for Dr. God.

7.  Dr. God's willingness to take the case--an even bigger kahuna.

8.  A date for the planning consultation at the Really Famous Hospital: January 4th.

9.  Dates for the proton beam treatment itself: January 11 - March 2.

10.  A place to stay during the treatment.

11.  Flights to get there.

    Getting this all done most definitely required some Patton-level mobilization.

    Now, though, we are awaiting what might be the mother of all big kahunas: getting the insurance pre-authorization.  We're getting our ducks in a row, keeping our fingers crossed, and trying not to twitch as we think about how much proton therapy costs.

    I'm really hoping that things go our way.  Otherwise, I'm gonna need to channel yet another ENTJ:

  

    

  Someone should warn the insurance company, no?