Thursday, March 31, 2016

The Unraveling of my Masterplan

Last week, I exhibited good behavior for my Ultrasound Guided Needle Biopsy. Come on. I really did. (I also spoke to a co-worker who had some calcifications removed from her thyroid and she showed me her scar and that always makes me think how fantastic humans are. Ya know, like when they share info and cut to the chase.) 

This week, I had it all lined up to get the hideous goo drinking contrast cat scan that will lead me to the promised land of good bye hernia and hello living without a megawatt generic tylenol in the back pocket of every pair of pants I own (More on that later.) and the INSURANCE company did not have it together to find time to approve said appointment so I got trapped in this: 

We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. 
We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator.  We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. We're sorry, all of our operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available operator. 

Again, spoken in the wonderful flat midwestern accent that I've come to enjoy so much I need to hear it like maybe 87 times in a row or something. 

Went to the Jewel and I saw Carlisa who is our parking lot based health and wellness advisor and she said, "You look better. Did you take my advice?" I-being continually caught in a position of off-guard had to think that over but yeah, I think I sort of did. I thought so, she said. You look a whole lot better. 


New game to play in the bathroom mirror. Trying to look at your own thyroid by tipping your whole head back. Hours of pleasure I tell you! (Okay minutes.) 

Got a report from the thyroid guy. It was a play-by-play of everything that happened in the needle biopsy except it didn't include any results and-quite frankly-my version is much more entertaining. 

I waited 24 hours-ish and I sent his an e asking him when I get to know what I got on my test. I think I used to be scared to get results but I gotta get ON with this stuff, right? Sheesh. 

These are the insurance statements so far this year. The letter carrier now has to have hernia surgery from hauling these things around.

Spoke with someone In-The-Know and she said to be careful with my insurance because 'Those co-ops are failing like crazy.'. Woo that's a cheerful statement, isn't it?

Soon we'll be spreading them all over the floor and frowning at them and wishing for some Brownies and/or Fairies to stop by and handcraft some shoes or spin dog hair tumbleweeds  into gold or whatnot. 

Ah the joy of compartmentalizing, yes? 

Last story. I'm at work. A woman comes in and wants to renew a book. The title is something like: Dropping Acid and it has to do with that reflux nonsense that forces me to eat decorated apple sauce every morning. She stands there in the library and lists the new rules. Not like in a mean or judgmental way-like she was chanting it out for herself almost. She said her doctor-from Loyola-as part of her prescription-said she had to read it. She said she tested it all out once by having a meal at White Castle and she was as sick as a dog. 

I put it on hold. 


Sunday, March 27, 2016

The Gross Part

This was Friday. A 1:00 appointment where you had to be there at 12:30 which is not a big deal unless you work till 1:00 on Fridays so then you gotta negotiate with someone for coverage. I was lucky with that one. 

Very very lucky. 

And then there's the-'How about you drive me this morning and then come and get me at noon' sort of negotiation which is also not a big thing except for the frequency of the request which is getting tired. Know what I mean?

But we got there. And went to registration again where we knew the lady from the first go round and then sent down to the basement where we were offered two choices of rooms to wait. One had the TV blaring and the other was really crowded and-dare I say-malodorous. We went with malodorous. That is how much I hate you daytime teevee. 


Lotta ladies waiting for mammograms and then groups of three. Like older people with an even older parent sort of a thing. Everyone a little bit frustrated and way off their own turf. 

I got called eventually. Followed a young talkative (sigh) woman down a long hallway into a sort of a darkened room. (I was talking to one of my favorite-favorites today about when a person is smart enough to realize they don't have to verbalize every thought that passes through their skull. Like what IS the actual age of enlightenment? 24? 25? Never?) 

There were going to be 4 players including me. A nice young resident. The chatty girl on the ultrasound. A sort of a eastern european sounding lady-I think because I couldn't see her-there to read the slides and a tiny female physician from India and me. 

I was on a soft bed thing and they shoved a pillow under my shoulders so that I was sorta splayed-neck/arm~wise. I put my own hands under my arse just to make them behave. They sanitized the whole area and that's when my nose started itching like crazy and the Ultrasound girl actually took a bunch of Kleenex and wiped off my nose. (Do you think Oprah has people doing that for her?) 

There were a lot of tiny chunks of waiting-where I thought about one of my aunts and in that very moment the lights flickered and in my head-who knows WHAT kicked this into motion-in my head I was hearing my Mah sing: What a Friend We Have in Jesus. So I thought hey-go with it, right? That and a whole lot of diaphragmatic breathing kept me still.(Holding still-in my opinion-is a very underrated skill. I wish I could teach that class.)

The deal was to get cells out of this tiny slippery ball of gunk floating in my thyroid. The right side. And like one of those fish finders you see people using in a lake, they used the ultrasound to find the right spot to poke and poke and poke.(I guess for the heavily tattooed-that's nothing.) 

My job was not to swallow or speak and in the end, I even held my breath-just to get it over with. They warned me they might have to make two attempts and they did. 

Yeah, it hurt and the whole idea of it was kind of horrible-ish and the tiny doctor from India decided to make the second attempt and I thought to myself as they lowered the table to accommodate her reach-this lady is not going to mess around and she didn't. 

The results will arrive in either two days or five and then add in the holiday and we won't hold our breath, yes? 


The Sex Thing

"Lack of connection can kill you."

That was the first thing I wrote down. Whoa, huh?  When we were driving towards Wellness House, I said, okay we're for sure sitting in the back row and if this guy says that there's more than one way to be intimate, I'm leaving. 

We get there. There are two long skinny rows and the back one is completely full. 


Here's Philip's take on it: 

The price was right. Free parking. Nice teacher. Seating could be a lot worse. Very good teacher. Very lively. 
It was an adult version of a health ed course. Today, like for a man, prostate cancer is a main issue. Know what I mean? 

Learned that there is an actual place that will help you. A sexual health clinic. This doctor was approachable, contemporary. I mean-53 years old. Can you dig it? Our age. Hard to believe we'd be going to see a doctor that was our age. Of course the doctors at the VA are younger than us. 

Hey. Our front row seat for the hour and a half presentation was perfect. 


I'm afraid to say he told everyone to 'embrace your journey' three times and the one time he tossed out 'It IS what it IS.' Philip looked at me because he knows I LOATHE that statement because it's never what it is-you can always run further away or get very close and completely change your perspective/duh but I also really thought this dude was the exact perfect person to have this job and everyone in the room was completely tuned in. 

We learned that sexual dysfunction happens in 90% of patients after cancer and 60% of women after colon cancer treatment. "A complex, complex thing." he said. 

He mentioned Daniel Goldman's Emotional Intelligence and Brene Brown's Daring Greatly(snagged that from the library yesterday). He talked about pleasure and connectiveness (is that a word?) and I think the biggest thing I learned was that if an sex life is something you want after cancer, it's a Very Doable Thing. And if it's something you don't want, that's cool too. 

There was a question and answer session after the talk and this one-most hilarious because of their flat flat flat Chicago/midwestern accents-I mean, these people came to participate-did this whole-We can't understand people-you don't feel shy about asking how people like their bacon cooked, or how they take their coffee, right? why would you not talk about how they like things sexually? thing and with that, we came home and installed a chandelier. 

Just kiddin'. 

Here's a link:

You're welcome. 

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Tuesday's Child is Full of Physicians
(I don't know what that means either but I liked it.) 

If it was Tuesday, then there was yet another appointment with a surgeon because I like my stress served like dixie cups coming out of a dispenser. This was the hernia surgeon. I went potluck on him-and by that I mean-I asked for the next available opening and ha ha-guess what? The Monday doctors called this guy: The Boss. 

The what? I ask. He's the boss. Of the whole department. Oh. 

Imagine that. I watched his little movie. He used the phrase 'cutting edge' so many times-I thought it was kinda funny. Tuesday was election day and P is a judge(is anyone surprised by that?)so he was seriously bummed that he was gonna miss it. I guess it'd be like missing an episode of Dallas or something. He's come this far...

I asked Marilyn and not because of her perfect penmanship and not because she was the only one that wriggled past my no visitors/who really wants to see me like that-rule in September, but because she was free and she knows all my crap. Generally speaking. 

If you want charming handwriting on your notes, bring a former 5th grade teacher.

My blood pressure came in at a new low. (All heads turn toward Philip and his foolishness accusingly.) Marilyn brought a sock to knit-and Philip had made me be sure to let her know that these appointments could go forever and I betcha she made probably two stitches. 

It was as fast as the last one had been torturously slow. Two people in white coats entered and I said, Oh! And here come the Residents! And ha ha on me-the female was ALREADY a doctor. I had no idea. 

A moment of silence for her awesomeness. 

Ya wanna know something? This physician was able to look at the whole picture. I think sometimes the dudes forget there's an actual person in there, ya know? Maybe not all the dudes, but I thought I liked my initial surgeon LOTS more than I did when it was just him and me alone in the room. 

She was able to kinda like translate the info into bits I could understand because I have 5 years in massaging.I think she said it three times and I thought EUREKA. Yes I DO know what fascia is/thank you for asking. 

So that was very cool. 

And then everybody out and then everybody back in with The Boss and I dunno. It was a kind of a really cool session. Not half as frightening as I had imagined. 

I asked The Boss: Can something so tiny hurt that much? He said: Do you have children? 

Oh and I think they even had a secret doctor laugh at me. That constipation thing? They said I could take that horrendous magnesium sulfate junk? And I said, I was afraid I'd explode. (No really. I was.) And I think she thought that was so hilarious she made me repeat it. 

(You think we don't laugh at people in MY jobs? You think wrong.) Oh and the answers are the following: colace, dulcolax and/or magnesium citrate.  

So another test on the way. The thyroid thing this Friday and the cat scan the following Tuesday. Not scared. 

Speaking of charming, I got this swell note from my pal Shari: 

Who knew that the thyroid looks like an elephant, I'm a little bit smarter today thanks to you.Also, thanks for writing your blog, as you can see I'm still reading it! I can't imagine when you find time and energy to do it. You are pretty amazing.

True confessions: 

I've been sleeping like a crazy person. Really. Hours and hours and hours. 

My new treats are called: Kool Aid Jammers. For no good reason except I am restricted from pop so I'm insisting on having one drink of misbehavior everyday. I tried orange and now I'm on the blue raspberry. Whoopie!

We got this invitation thing to go to the Y in Berwyn and listen to some life coach type(gaaah) lady talk about Your New Life After Cancer. The only thing interesting about that is, that I was sort of waiting for things to change? I dunno. It seemed like they had to, no? And lately? I'm strong arming them into changing all by myself. POW. 

(Also I get a continual sense that people(including maybe even me)are waiting for things to get back to normal? Normal is gone. YAY!)

The week ahead: SEX SEX SEX. Okay just that intimacy class coming up this week-I said hey maybe we should pick up a bottle of Courvoisier, oui? 


Brace yourselves. 

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Where was I? 


Yesterday, I was in the bathroom(when I get my nerve up and that might be never-I might mention what happens to one's digestive system in the colon cancer olympics. I don't really remember what my digestive system used to be like and that's just the point-I don't think I had to do a whole lot of thinking about it in the olden days. Now, it's a thing and it's an uncooperative thing. Uggh. So it's like 8:00 in the morning-ish and my phone is ringing. Double Uggh. 

I hate the phone. And mostly everyone knows that, so who's calling me before 9:00? I run through the possibilities which is a very short list. Instead of Publishers Clearing House, I settle on: ewwww mah gawd something must be wrong with my Dad! So that's how I make my approach. In a holy s@#$ sort of a mode. Yeah I know. That's gotta go. My Dad's in better shape than I am. 

It's the surgeon's nurse and she's very: Hey how ah ya tah-day casual. And I'm thinking, hmmm. You might have assumed this tone WHEN WE CALLED YOU LAST WEEK WHEN MY BELLY WAS SPASMING AND I WAS EXORCISTING OFF THE BED. Cuz that day we played phone tag on Day 1 and Don't forget your real friend Mr. Industrial Strength Leftover From September Acetaminophen on Day 2 but whateva, right? 

Roll with it. 

They're just wanting to let me know that my CEA level(That's your cancer cootie level-and if I could give you a bit of health advice, what you'd like to ultimately do is keep this at a level where you never get phone calls about it. Understand?) was 1.5 but is now 1.8 and I am advised: Not To Worry About It

For me, I am thinking, yo. If it wasn't important enough to insert into my over-stuffed stress ball of a cranium, you coudda post-it noted it on my cyber chart for the next time or something, no?  

But that's just me. 


If it's Monday, It Must Be Thyroid Surgeon Day

We were overwound for this one. We got to the hospital early enough to split an Einstein bagel-turkey, avocado and something else nice that I can't remember sandwich. That's one cool thing about running as a pair of kumquats. You know how portions are Too Big? Ya just split everything. No sweat. Especially of one of you is Not Fussy. (Which is, of course, Not Me. Duh.) 

We get into the exam room and We-and more specifically Philip-were so wired up it was like an instant comedy performance for the poor comedy starved nurse and I don't think there was any pre-intention of jocularity or anything. Maybe it's just too many times finding yourself in the exact same place with the exact same wall paper border that resembles female genitalia kinda like worrying and wondering? I can't say. But We Were Hilarious

Hoo boy. 

And then we sat. In the empty room. For probably like 20 minutes. (I'm guessing. It's all a blur.) And then the resident comes in and we have to start at the very beginning of the story AGAIN. And that goes on for-f'ing-ever. 

One good thing she said was that the scar was healing nicely. I said, yeah? Because I have nothing to compare it to. And she assured us-it's looking very good. Yay. 

She left. We sat again. FOREVER. And here, we start looking at P's watch starting to worry that we're going to be late for our next things. We arrived at the hospital at 1:30 and we left after 3:00. That is. So Long. 

(And that is not to say that the doctor did not thank us for our patience-he did.)

Long story short on this appointment. Speaking only for myself, the way I got through this one was to tell myself that they were just gonna monitor this thang, right? I mean they found it by accident-not because my thyroid was misbehaving or anything, so when the doctor said he wanted to send me for an ultrasound guided biopsy/just a needle in my neck sort of a thing, our faces did this:

I had a hard time with this drawing because I couldn't draw 
our collective jaws dropping to the floor without it looking 
like we were smiling. We weren't smiling. And it was not because of my terrible bangs. 

Then, out comes the helpful diagram of a thyroid, and the little lump of gunk that decided to live there and how they're gonna grab some cells and put them on slides and there's a scale from A->F and what you're hoping for is an A or a B. Okay an A. I want a A. 

And off we ran, now dashing home to change my shirt for Job Number 2. Later I pulled out the diagram and I said Hey look! It's an elephant! 


Sunday, March 13, 2016

What It Is

So I'm talking to one of my favorite-favorites at work, listing the cavalcade of nonsense that's been going on(come to think of it, I hope I haven't turned into one of those people that run up to others and list their maladies-hey wait a second, isn't this a blog about cancer surgery?!?!) Anyway, she says to me(something like): You have a really good attitude with all this stuff going on and I say, Ya think so? 

I bought this yesterday for a quarter 
at the Economy Shop.The lady 
said," That must be for people who really like the music." 
I said,"Hmmmmmaybe."

The following are the reasons I can completely 
separate myself from current goings-on. 

1. These are not my bangs. I had my second try awhile ago with the Norwegian lady and even she didn't recognize her own misguided handiwork on these horrible horrible horrible bangs. They belong to someone else's head. That is fo' sho'. 

2. This hair color. A long time ago, I had a massage client who told me about a place that actually specializes in hair color. On their website, it says not only are they affordable but they're fast-which is something that wouldn't really have concerned me so much before this surgery but now I cannot sit until my neck cramps up while they slide a whole roll of Reynolds Wrap into my hair. No can do/no mo'. 

My other work favorite-favorite, when I told her I was going there-to this place in deepest suburbia, she said, "In Wheaton?!??!" and I thought, huh, what's the big deal about Wheaton? Until I got home and looked at the color. 

It's somebody else's hideously conservative color, temporarily living on my head. 

Thing 3. I have-what feels like a serrated knife shoved into my belly, but it's not like straight in-it's kind of at an angle so it doesn't really hurt every minute of every day. Also my back- all of a sudden-hurts like a mutha' so it provides a lot of variety pain-wise.  I am connected to none of it. 

So there. 


I came home from work, parked the car and in the Jewel parking lot, I saw one of our favorite-favorites from the Jewel. The Jewel is union-or at least it was-so you kinda get to know  the employees over time. I'm not going to tell you this woman's name for her privacy, but she does carts with the energy of 127 men. 

I say hey and she says how ya doing? And then she whispers: I had what you have. 

I'm looking at her now thinking, okay. Which thing? (Which is kind of a little bit hilarious, no?) and she says: The hernia. I had that. And I'm thinking WHOA WHOA WHOA who told her I have a freaking hernia? The immediate following thought was: hey who gives a crap anyway, right? It's not like I don't have a BLOG for God sakes. 

She said," Gurrrrrrrl? I saw Jesus TWENTY TIMES when I had that thing." 

Now she's got me bent over laughing because we are speaking the exact same language all of a sudden. It was so funny. 

She went on to lecture me about eliminating negative people and focusing on healing myself and that I needed to be surrounded by plants. Listen. I heard every word. I have got to get better soon. I have Things To Do. 

Then she went on to say that Philip are I are so cute together, we reminded her of kumquats. And now, as a public service, I'm going to link you to a page about kumquats, saving you your valuable planetary time allocations. 

You're welcome. 


Tomorrow, a very good friend of mine is getting some cancer removed from her existence. If you're not doing anything, won't you please join me in sending her piles of positive mojo at approximately 7:30 AM Central Time. You can mentally address it to: Ann's Friend. She'll get it. I just know it. 


Thursday, March 10, 2016

Resting (un)comfortably*

So it was Monday and then Thursday and I started feeling kinda crappy. Just out of the blue. (Or possibly even le bleu. I have international readers-don't cha know.) Worked Friday morning okay and then I came home and fell asleep for three and a half hours. Boom. Out like a light. 

A cold. Another cold. Ye Gods. And I had pre-paid for a class at a fancy library way, way, way, over my normal fun budget.(Okay actually more ways than that.) But I had to do it because I was sinking. You know how that is. 

And now I'm in that most miserable part of a cold-where really-you shouldn't even mingle with others in the Nyquil aisle, ya know what I mean? You are flat lining. And here's the other sneaky difference with this cold. It's come with a tremendous cough. 

Which is really no big thing, right? Nyquil, a few days of rest-back to Swellville. But now! I have this hernia thang. So it's like a weakness along the incision between my belly button and the netherworld and so every time I cough, it's like-I spent a lot of time trying to decide if my body went into the letter e? or the letter G on it's back. Yeah I think it's closer to the G. My head whipped up and my legs flew up and my innards flew forward. 

And then, my innards just started flying forward cuz they FELT like it so I'm having these wacky spasm things. It was ridiculous. Even Philip-watching me-was like: Whoa. 

And I had this very expensive(to me) Saturday class. And I woke up feeling like the first pancake in a cold pan. Know what I'm sayin'? 

In a seriously overdramatic moment, I said to myself, You wanna stay in bed here or you wanna go change your life? 

I bundled my sorry ass up in a navy blue hoodie with a homemade sandwich, 5000 cough drops and a wad of fresh Kleenex and off I went. Altho we were seated in a square-I made my own quarantine section(yeah, I really did)and while I was not in my finest participation mode(I left the room twice. Both when people were discussing their kitty cat stories. Uggh. In my mind I pretended I was verbally allergic.) The class was supposed to be done at 4:00. At 4:45 they finally stopped talking. 


Then back home to sleep and watch my innards fling themselves forward. Over and over and over again. 

Painful. Like-do you know there are emails piling up in my inbox and I dare not answer them because this week has been such a horror show and if I dared say what I really wanted to at this moment in time? I'd have to move to an island. Alone.

Pain does some crazy stuff to ya. That is fer sher. 

Then P got this genius idea. He said he actually got it the day before(I may or may not have snarled at him. I'm telling ya this week has been a bear.) he made it happen but herein lies the answer to probably like 49 percent of the torture: two words: cough syrup.

Now. On the other hand, in my work situations, I've once again had to take on the role of the weakest link-I know it's temporary but uggh, ya know? Even Philip was like, you were On The Road To Recovery! and I said: I KNOW. What is THIS s@#$? But at the end of an actual day-I mean an actual work-type day where I was participating-just not the way I want to be-I got out of my car at the end of the night and I had to stop and think about how massively kind people had been to me on that very day and how incredibly fortunate I am. My last massage boss-in what-five years?-I never heard him say: Now get out of here and go home and get some rest. 



Next up. Two appointments early next week. Whoopie! 

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Here's how low things had become: I broke one of my own rules (gasp) and took out two library books for Philip. I will do a lotta things for a lotta people but I SO depend on library books for my health and well being, I never wanna screw that up. They were books about genealogy. That's one of his thangs. And they were new. 

And they went missing. 

For a couple of weeks-we were still within the renewal period but red letters appeared on my record saying something like: RENEWAL WISE? YOU'RE DONE. So it was a sort of a back burner, teeny, tiny, minor annoyance. 

One fine morning, they magically turned up and there was this incredible amount of rejoicing. Truly. We were filled with happiness and joy and that's when I knew things were still really 'off' in the Department of Health. 


An older woman approached me at the library. I knew her several years ago and I'd only waved at her across the street walking her dog a couple of times here and there. She said, 'How's it goin'?" and I said, "Good." and she said--in a kind of an East coast accent, "I'm glad. If anyone deserves a break-it's you."



This was the week of test results and the learning of a new term: carcinophobia.  

I made an appointment with my new Primary Care guy so that he could explain all these results. It was getting to be a lot and Google is no friend of mine when it comes to looking things up. "This surgery was The Most Painful Thing I Have Ever Experienced." That's what I find. 


I got the emailed test results from Loyola late Sunday night, I think. I didn't get out of bed to open it because I have to sorta prepare myself for these things. (I know. I'm a weirdo.) 

Monday morning, I opened the e and got to choose from two test results. US/SOFT TISSUE NECK (USTSTN) or CEA. Soft tissue is the thyroid report and CEA will tell you if you have cancer fairies still dancing in your body. 


The Smug

I am not sure that I am not imagining it, but I think I've identified a new species. They're called: The Smug. These are people for whom life-wise-everything is still perfect. They get to spend their co-pay dough on fabulous outfits ordered offa the internet and their lunches come from the salad bar at Whole Foods. 

It is not that they are unsympathetic to anyone else-it's just that they have no reference points on which to rely. 


Grantley assisted in the renewal of an exercise program. She must have eaten one of the many street loaf-type delicacies that hide in the lawns of The Chicken Wing Triangle where we live (Popeyes to the west/Chicken and Waffles across the street and KFC to the east)giving her a fine case of intestinal distress. Corgis speak with their feet(cha cha cha cha chaaa) and every time she danced, somebody had to run outside with her. I've taken her out more in the past 2 days than probably in the past six months. 

A good thing. A bad thing. All rolled up in one.


We went to the Primary Care first thing Tuesday morning. More high stakes jocularity as we sat in the exam room. I was trying to take Philip's picture and he was trying to prevent it using vulgar sign language. (Not pictured here. Gawd Fahbid.) 

I was still laughing when the Doctor entered the room.


Militant Self Care

I've done something so completely cutting edge even I can't believe it. You remember when I started visiting this new primary care guy, I was so exhausted and feeling bad. Well, I did some good hard thinking and I thought, hey dumbass.(this brand of self talk is not recommended) What part of this equation do you have influence over? 

So. Two days a month. On the weeks when I perform tremendous feats of superhuman strength? I took two afternoons off. 

I waited for trees to fall on my head in retaliation but so far? Nothing. 

Please stand by.


The morning of the doctor's appointment, I looked at the Thyroid Report. And then after a few deep breaths, I looked at the CEA. That's the scary one. 

On we went to LaGrange and the doctor actually sat down with us and we had this entire chat about everything. It was So Cool. 

It seems as if there is something thyroid-wise but it doesn't sound like SOMETHING. It sounds like something. 

And one of the phrases that kept falling out of my mouth at this particular appointment was this: So that's good news then, right? 

We were pulling out of the parking lot on our way to get our traditional post-appointment breakfast(am I crazy or is that small coffee suitable for an American Girl doll?)both marveling at the talent of the new primary care guy and the dermatologist who referred us to him and P said,"This is the future of medicine."