Friday, May 12, 2017

Last week I was FOR SURE that I was being revisited by the cancer fairies. I mean, I was sure. 

To their credit, nobody in my universe smirked or smiled or rolled their eyes. Not a single one of them. I kept it relatively quiet tho-don't wanna be the woman who blogged wolf. 

My arm hurt. Inside my upper arm. Where the nodes live. I was purposely flailing around with all the other ladies in the water aerobics class and my left arm wasn't cutting the mustard and I cannot estimate the ages of the other ladies compared to myself, but I know I'm not the oldest (or the youngest) and everybody else had both arms up making circles up in the air except for me. I had this weird weakness on my left side. And (I guess) the thinking behind this kind of thing is like-Fool me once Mister Cancer-shame on me but you are not going to catch me ill prepared a second time-nosireebob and so last week was like a regular week except for that. 

Made a doctors appointment with my Primary Care on Friday. P now trusts me to go alone and so do I. Went in with a short laundry list. 1. Do you think I'm dying?  2. I quit taking omeprasol, ya think that was a bad idea? 3. Whaddaya think this thing is next to the top of my giant scar? 

Ohmahgawd, he was so (mentally) gentle with me, it was a thing to behold. Did a quick exam. Talked about the last mammogram. Thought through the possibilities of what it could be. And we agreed-this is how health care IS now by the way. You get to participate-we'd give it a week. 

I felt better. I am fully aware that this is a thing with cancer patients. (You saw this, right? The description says: GOP Representative Tom McArthur is the man responsible for the amendment that brought Trumpcare back from the dead and secured its passage in the House. His constituents are not pleased.)  I wouldn't say every squeak makes me think: cancer, but it's a thing, right? In fact, one of the factoids in that Preventing Recurrence class was to avoid swimming in pools. 

I've decided it's okay with me if I die of swimming pool cancer and in fact I will award myself extra credit if that happens. Especially if I die of taking a summer outdoor water aerobics class in the rain which is one of the greatest joys known to Ann. (Also I take the recommended hot soapy shower afterwards because that's supposed to help because I am not an idiot.) 

Omeprasol got on my very last nerve. Thing one. Insurance refused to pay for it. Thing Two. I had to wake up an entire hour early so it could sit alone in my stomach. Thing Three. I bought some and I took it and I realized it was covered in some sorta sweetened gackily goo. (aka:spoonful of sugar)What kind of bullshit is that? 

He said he thought it was being overprescribed and that I was okay without it. 

Pull up my shirt, point at the thing. Okay what do you think this is? And do you think I should be pushing it in? Or what. 

Big deep breath on his end. I know you're not going to like this after the last 2 years you've had, but it looks like a hernia. 

I seriously did not see that coming. 


Next episode: The distraction project. Why I will not be standing beneath the inflatable colon. And friends. 

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