First, I should probably comment on my cyber-home’s new look. I needed to keep my brain busy for a bit, in order to avoid doing something I would most likely regret later.
I tried rereading my favorite quotes from Gabriel García Márquez’s Collected Stories, while listening to The Witch with No Name, by Kim Harrison. It wasn’t enough; my brain needed more busy, if I was to stay away from breaking my word. So I added playing with my blog’s layout to the preceding list, and that seemed to do the trick. I hope all this brightness doesn’t make your eyes go into shock. If it does, let me know. Seriously. My Piano Man was speaking of seizures. (Next morning edit: I changed the colors of the blog back. My eyes kept on trying to flee their sockets every time I looked at the terribly bright, um… brightness).
Anyway, my hospital visit went well. One of the appointments stretched a tad longer than usual, so I had to reschedule with my chronic pain management therapist; which was okay, since my pain has been behaving these last few days. After I got home, I received a call from one of the doctors I didn’t see today. I felt a little anxious. It’s hard to keep your nerves of steel, when a physician calls you after hours… especially, if said physician recently ordered tons of lab work on you.
“Hi, ma’am,” I said, sounding way chirpier than I felt. “What’s going on?”
She explained that the pathologist sent her results for a culture that had been incubating for about six weeks. “It’s nothing we can’t work with,” she said, telling me what they found [I will share the specifics with you after all the doctors are sure, my Wicked Luvs; promise]. “It’s an uncommon thing to find in someone as healthy as you, but not impossible.”
“All right,” I said. “I guess I’ll hold back on ordering that exquisite crimson urn I saw on Flash Your Ash Dot Com.”
We both laughed; and my heart was light and genuinely chirpy… Then the doctor added, “Don’t go googling X until we know more about your specific case. X is not pretty. I would hate for you to scare yourself for no good reason.”
My bright chirp went poof.
I haven’t researched X on Google or elsewhere. And I won’t do it until after I meet with my doctor tomorrow. I promised and my word means the world to me. But I’m as uneasy as an ant that has been looking, back and forth, between the hot sun and a boy with a magnifying glass… and this ant knows what that terrible boy has done to dozens of its friends.
There are certain little things a doctor should never say to a patient. Or at least, the physician should be very careful with his or her phraseology.
Update (Nov 26th, at 8:28pm): earlier today, I was tested for the condition the doctors and I had feared the most. The results came back negative. One more round of tests has been ordered, and although I still don’t have a clear diagnosis, at least I know of one more thing my body is not afflicted by. One small miracle at a time, right?
This was on a table, in my podiatrist’s waiting room. I guess everyone is relating information in questionable ways. I feel your pain, J’adore Dior. I sure hope you have some bandaids… and good healthcare … a hefty cash contribution to The Church couldn’t hurt *giggles*.