11:25 am — My phone rings.

"Hello, Mr. Craig. I'll meet you at the right door of reception 2," says the Champalimaud attendant.

Tina and I meet him at the door for our 11:00 am appointment with the surgeon, and he escorts us to Doctor Cunha's office.

"So you have completed all your tests."

"Yes, I have."

"Your EKG is fine, and you met with the nurse today?"

"No, I met with her last week."

"And your last chemotherapy was on 2 June?"

"Yes, it was," Tina answers, and I confirm.

He studies his computer, reviewing the calendar dates. I use the lull to pull up this website on my phone and open the calendar to confirm the David Byrne concert: July 13.

"The week of July 13 for the surgery?" he asks.

"Yes, correct."

"We do these surgeries on Wednesdays, which is the 15th of July. Does that date work for you?"

"Yes, that date works for me," I reply, jumping for joy in my head. "I have one question. No visible cancer on imaging — I know that doesn't mean no cancer — but is there a chance, when you do the laparoscopy or open me up, that you'll see no cancer?"

I search his face for confirmation. He pinches his index finger and thumb together, leaving a small gap, and gives a slight head wag. "Very little chance."

"Okay — that is it," he says.

Tina and I walk out the door at 11:40, and there is my oncologist. After trading pleasantries, I tell her I emailed her thirty minutes ago requesting an official medical declaration for limited-mobility access to the NOS Alive Foo Fighters concert.

"Of course," she replies, looking busy, and we say goodbye.

Walking toward the elevator, I mutter, "That could have been an email — but at least we can attend David Byrne."

"David Byrne plays late on the night of the 14th. I don't think that's a good idea," Tina replies.

"What? I have it on my website as the 13th."

A quick Google search, and she is right. Anger rushes over me and rides with me the entire way home. I try to stay calm, but I want my normal life back. It has been over two years of fighting this disease — half our time living in Portugal.

The prior weekend, Tina attended the Rock in Rio festival, where she spotted the limited-mobility access section — sparking the idea for me to request the same for NOS Alive.

The next morning, a ding from my phone. The Champalimaud app, new document notification: the limited-access declaration. I upload it to the NOS Alive application form. NOS Alive approves my application that afternoon, and I tell them which acts I need access to.

I play the cancer card for our benefit and I need the special access. Fatigue hits fast these days, and standing too long worries me.

I love my always-observational, always-thinking-of-others wife, Tina D.