Although we’re not driving across the country anymore, we do still have road trips. They’re the medical kind, accompanied by a bit of stress and a smidgeon of dread, but still…we’re on the road again.

Monday’s trip was to a different Dana Farber Cancer Center in Milford, Massachusetts. My oncologist had moved to this location months ago and we had no idea where Milford was until I googled it.

We headed north, along I-95 and 295 until another traffic-free highway kept taking us north. And then we turned right, onto a rural road heading east to Milford. It was lovely. Small towns, a lake, historic homes…all to be gawked at on a sunny spring morning. We were in the country on a two-lane road!

About two hours later, while waiting to see the doctor, Banjo Man asked his typical road-trip question: Where are we going to eat?

I took out my phone and we examined the map of the surrounding area.

“That’s it,” Banjo Man exclaimed. “Let’s go there!!”

“Where?”

“The diner. Miss Somebody’s diner”.

We were then called into an exam room to meet with the doctor. She and I discussed my options, I reported on what the thoracic oncologist had said about radiation, I reiterated that right now I was more into “quality of life” decisions as opposed to high-powered treatments. We agreed on my having a scan in July in Idaho, continued bloodwork and a Zoom call in August. If the cancer was still under control, I would have radiation in the fall. Fine with me!

Banjo Man didn’t say a word. I knew he was thinking about lunch. And the thrill of going to an out-of-the-way restaurant.

We had to turn around a couple of times to find it. Tucked behind a massive car dealership, it was hard to spot from the road. My husband practically ran across the parking lot to get inside.

Do you see that mug in the photo?

Banjo Man did. He ordered a cup of coffee just so he could drink out of one. Then he asked the waitress if he could buy a mug to take home.

“Just take that one,” she chirped. “No charge.”

The food was great. I think it tasted better because we were now free to go to the lake and I hadn’t had to argue with my doctor about it. I had already decided that any and all treatments could wait until August. I was not about to be convinced otherwise.

Besides, Angela had already insisted it was the right thing to do.

While Banjo Man took his sweet time devouring a massive pot roast dinner, I nibbled on a chicken wrap and mentally packed my suitcase.

The mug went home with us.