So I finally got to see the Doctor.
One examination, one x-ray and one attempted aspiration effort later, I need to schedule surgery.
I have a foreign hard mass, split into two, just north of my left wrist and it (they) needs to come out.
I’m not happy.
Anytime the words benign, pathology, surgery and recovery come into a conversation, I tend to have a mood swing toward the road of unhappy.
I can’t help it, never being a fan of Doctors and never accepting the fact that I am not immortal.
Compared to some of the issues my friends and family have faced this is a minor, insignificant thing.
I should be laughing in the face of this microscopic adversity.
But I am not laughing because it is happening to me and it is my left hand – my dominant, inconvenient, need-for-everything-left-hand.
Right now my minuscule, centimeter sized peas of intrusion, feel like the size of the earth. The bump I’ve ignored for months, now makes me feel like the elephant man. Worse yet, Mr. Larger-than-life-mouthpiece is just a tiny bit genuinely scared.
I promised myself I would use this venue to vent my truth and share my life – so my apologies if this post ventures into TMI land.
On day 207 of this year, my Doctor will remove the ‘peas of intrusion’ I’ve named Boris and Natasha.
Until then, I will be a little worried.
Until then, I will be apprehensive.
And until them, I will continue looking out for number one.