It was suggested to me that I actually, you know, post something and let people know what the deets are from the latest visit with the dude in the lab coat.
Bad Spike strikes again.
Okay, so how it went is like this.
End of January, went and had the blood draw.
Beginning of February, go see Dr. Labcoat.
Now, historically, that week between the blood draw and the visit with Dr. On-call-ogist has been brutal. The world seems to take on a real nutty flavour, which doesn’t subside until we skip, relieved and yet emotionally exhausted, down the hallway to the parkade, delighted again to have good test results.
This time, things weren’t so nutty. I am not sure if this is because everything has been so all-around generally nutty that I am now completely calloused and can’t tell when any new nuttiness has been added, or perhaps I reached my nuttiness quota and the added bits just fell off me with nowhere to stick, or maybe we are getting used to this drill, or well, really I have no idea.
But the day came and there we are, in my little examination room, me in my stunning blue gown that really brings out the crack of my ass, when the nurse from the clinical trial came in and we all had a loverly little jaw wag because she wasn’t there last time so there was much blah blah blah and catching up and all. And then she looked at me sternly and said, “Where is your blood work?”
And let me just say, that got my attention.
We assured her that there had been the required trip to the lab the week prior and that it must exist somewhere.
She left and came back with the results.
Soon, Dr. On-call-ogist came in and told me I am brilliant.
I like it a lot when he says this. What he means is that my test results are brilliant. He isn’t speaking about my Mensa potential, which is sorta sad, but really, I’d take good test results over a Mensa membership, any old day.
For those of you following along at home with your CA-125 score card, the results are at exactly the same place as 3 months ago, which is the lovely, friendly, sign of infinity, number 8.
That’s good enough for me.
Soon, I get to go have my first visit at the High Risk Clinic.
I am hoping they have a gift shop or something because I would like a t-shirt.
Anyway, I have to go speak to them because I am a mutant.
That ain’t happening till later in the month.
And I also get to go back and have exactly the same ultrasound at exactly the same place that I had my “welcome to the wild and action packed world of ovarian cancer’ ultrasound, about two years ago.
See, I think I have some sorta hernia or something because I get some pretty weird feelings in the spot where they sewed and stapled me back together. Maybe they left a scalpel in there or something. I dunno.
But it’s weird and it feels kind of wrong in a ‘do yerself an injury’ sort of way, not in a ‘oh, another honking big tumour is living in your gut’ kind of way.
Still, returning to the scene of the crime like that is a bit unnerving.
Plus doing the distended bladder routine that the ultrasound requires is a bit sick and twisted.
But it beats the alternative.
So, that’s me and this month’s health tidbits.
More as it happens.