Some sort of dystrophy
Let's us think.
The right hand was chosen by the doctor to operate in two weeks. I think he rock/paper/scissored the starting location.
Since we were playing games, my gumball machine dropped another ... ding ding ding DISEASE. It's written on a slice of paper in my pocket and fights to be pronounced with any fluency. Rather it lodges itself in the back of your throat and sits there dangling with a large smile of "you'll never get me copper!"
I am going to start naming each of my lumps after the next disease I've got.
"Aw..... look at little melanoma! He's grown so much!"
"Hashimoto's Thyrioditis, how long has it been? How are the kids?"
"Who invited rheumatiod arthritis? Maaaaannn, he always spoils the party."
Etc.
Of course, there was an incident. And I don't include drawing ckicken faces on rubber gloves and playing shadow monster wars in the xray light machine. That just passed an hour of time ... yes a fucking HOUR of sitting there waiting to talk to this asshole. Why not make it DMV style, let you take a ticket from a spinny wheel and come back when they are serious about addressing you.
I was caught playing shadow monster and was laughed at by a pretty damn cute little asian (no I can't tell Korean from Chinese or Japanese or Thai or Catmandu style hooker... she was cute and that was enough). I said I wanted to have a potty and a smoke.
"Is this MY room?"
"Yes?"
"If I leave my gloves here, they'll still be here when I'm back?"
"Of course."
"Same gloves? Because I'll know. I know my own chickens."
I had my smoke niblet, not even a whole one. This began The Incident. When I came back in I passed a woman who aubibly and I mean super audibly gasped as though I gassed the bitch with arsenic. I let it go then I hear "Some people just have no decency or respect, smoking like that in the building......" she mutters over her shoulder in quite the condescending "I've a meeting at the ladies club for tea at one o'clock..." type of haughty way.
Time paused in my head while I decided if I was going to flash or not. I am sick of people bitching about my fucking smoke. And she was wrong. I am a crazy polite smoker, reminding you this is a LEGAL thing I participate in, but I follow the rules. My person may smell of smoke, that I can't help until I quit, but it's also very temporary as you pass by me. My cancer will not jump onto you like lice. Promise.
Brain decided it doesn't like people who condescend, people who condescend when are WRONG and people who condescend without the minimal respect of eye contact. Call me a filthy smoker, but don't do as your ass is far enough away for me to fling a rubber band at it. Have a balls to look me in the face and say your piece. So... I flashed.
"I wasn't smoking inside, I smoked outside where the ASHTRAY is, and GROW UP!"
I know, not a big flash but more than normal for me and when I went to schedule my actual surgery, there that miserable bitch was clutching my file and smiling in the way that told me she had every control of getting my insurance to authorize it.
Inside thoughts (fuuuuuuuck)
"Well hello again."
"Hi!" I chirped. (fuuuuuck!!!!! /mental thoughts of banging my head against the desk)
I didn't know she was who she was when I bitched at her, and I'm glad I bitched, but this does not help my surgery get done on time. She won't authorise it without my insurance card, which I've lost but I'm going to tear this fucking house apart tonight and smile right back tomorrow waving it like a god damned gold card in Macy's. /picture a sparkle in the smile when you read that. (ding!)
The problem with my hands - needs to be biopsied. Fine. I had two choices on anesthesia. One being out and out, the other just put my arm out and I can watch. I'm watching. Yes, most people have said are you gone? Yes, but thats not why. I don't like anethesia as it is, so lessor the better. Mr Morgan agreed, said "You won't feel it." and shrugged back to watching Stargate. I concur. It won't gross me out. More likely they'll just wish I was out because I prolly won't shut the fuck up.
Down side. These will grow back. I am being advised to chill a little because there are only so many times they can operate on my hands without permanant damage, which is a good possibility with the first one. Nutshell my tendons are constricting in my palms, a factor I think my body is doing on auto-pilot to form fists and beat the shit out of my co-workers and family members who need it since I refuse to do it own my own. The other growths are something else. Later for those. I'll need a driver for a month or so, I have money.... come pick me up, I'd never beg a freebie. Be funny if like 5 cars rolled into my driveway, all looking for a kickback, but I know I'll be staring out a window saying "anybody?"
I had another thought, but it ran off. I'll name one lump Forgetful.
-DM
The right hand was chosen by the doctor to operate in two weeks. I think he rock/paper/scissored the starting location.
Since we were playing games, my gumball machine dropped another ... ding ding ding DISEASE. It's written on a slice of paper in my pocket and fights to be pronounced with any fluency. Rather it lodges itself in the back of your throat and sits there dangling with a large smile of "you'll never get me copper!"
I am going to start naming each of my lumps after the next disease I've got.
"Aw..... look at little melanoma! He's grown so much!"
"Hashimoto's Thyrioditis, how long has it been? How are the kids?"
"Who invited rheumatiod arthritis? Maaaaannn, he always spoils the party."
Etc.
Of course, there was an incident. And I don't include drawing ckicken faces on rubber gloves and playing shadow monster wars in the xray light machine. That just passed an hour of time ... yes a fucking HOUR of sitting there waiting to talk to this asshole. Why not make it DMV style, let you take a ticket from a spinny wheel and come back when they are serious about addressing you.
I was caught playing shadow monster and was laughed at by a pretty damn cute little asian (no I can't tell Korean from Chinese or Japanese or Thai or Catmandu style hooker... she was cute and that was enough). I said I wanted to have a potty and a smoke.
"Is this MY room?"
"Yes?"
"If I leave my gloves here, they'll still be here when I'm back?"
"Of course."
"Same gloves? Because I'll know. I know my own chickens."
I had my smoke niblet, not even a whole one. This began The Incident. When I came back in I passed a woman who aubibly and I mean super audibly gasped as though I gassed the bitch with arsenic. I let it go then I hear "Some people just have no decency or respect, smoking like that in the building......" she mutters over her shoulder in quite the condescending "I've a meeting at the ladies club for tea at one o'clock..." type of haughty way.
Time paused in my head while I decided if I was going to flash or not. I am sick of people bitching about my fucking smoke. And she was wrong. I am a crazy polite smoker, reminding you this is a LEGAL thing I participate in, but I follow the rules. My person may smell of smoke, that I can't help until I quit, but it's also very temporary as you pass by me. My cancer will not jump onto you like lice. Promise.
Brain decided it doesn't like people who condescend, people who condescend when are WRONG and people who condescend without the minimal respect of eye contact. Call me a filthy smoker, but don't do as your ass is far enough away for me to fling a rubber band at it. Have a balls to look me in the face and say your piece. So... I flashed.
"I wasn't smoking inside, I smoked outside where the ASHTRAY is, and GROW UP!"
I know, not a big flash but more than normal for me and when I went to schedule my actual surgery, there that miserable bitch was clutching my file and smiling in the way that told me she had every control of getting my insurance to authorize it.
Inside thoughts (fuuuuuuuck)
"Well hello again."
"Hi!" I chirped. (fuuuuuck!!!!! /mental thoughts of banging my head against the desk)
I didn't know she was who she was when I bitched at her, and I'm glad I bitched, but this does not help my surgery get done on time. She won't authorise it without my insurance card, which I've lost but I'm going to tear this fucking house apart tonight and smile right back tomorrow waving it like a god damned gold card in Macy's. /picture a sparkle in the smile when you read that. (ding!)
The problem with my hands - needs to be biopsied. Fine. I had two choices on anesthesia. One being out and out, the other just put my arm out and I can watch. I'm watching. Yes, most people have said are you gone? Yes, but thats not why. I don't like anethesia as it is, so lessor the better. Mr Morgan agreed, said "You won't feel it." and shrugged back to watching Stargate. I concur. It won't gross me out. More likely they'll just wish I was out because I prolly won't shut the fuck up.
Down side. These will grow back. I am being advised to chill a little because there are only so many times they can operate on my hands without permanant damage, which is a good possibility with the first one. Nutshell my tendons are constricting in my palms, a factor I think my body is doing on auto-pilot to form fists and beat the shit out of my co-workers and family members who need it since I refuse to do it own my own. The other growths are something else. Later for those. I'll need a driver for a month or so, I have money.... come pick me up, I'd never beg a freebie. Be funny if like 5 cars rolled into my driveway, all looking for a kickback, but I know I'll be staring out a window saying "anybody?"
I had another thought, but it ran off. I'll name one lump Forgetful.
-DM
posted by DMorgan's Zoo at
5:47 PM
5 Comments:
I'm not going to psychoanalyze. You know I care very much about you and hope that what ails you doesn't linger and/or come back even though the doctor says it might or will or whatever. I am at a loss for words. You wrote quite the humoous account of what went jiggy at doctor's office. I'm not laughing. Maybe it's my mood, and it will pass. Maybe I'm worried. You know, I just want you to get better.
That said, I better not be one of those co-workers that your hands are clenching up to put a beat down. I must remind you that I'm double your size and would hate to have to hurt you. LOL
Look... I love you always. Even when you piss me off, even when you're pissed off, even when the world around us is pissy, when I'm pissy, when you're pissy (you get the idea). Just get better, OK?
There is nothing to do but try to find humor in it, which I really did during the great time waste of sitting yesterday. Myonly pause is that it's FINALLY going to happen. After a long year of having my hands felt to say the fucking obvious "yep ... tumors" I am going under the knife. With a doctor who promotes himself like a cheap lawyer on tv. Back alley abortion anyone? Scared! -DM
I am thinking of you. And I admire your outlook on things, I think I would have actually attacked someone.
You were marvelous to confront the moron - she needed it. I'm deadly sick of people feeling they can tell other people what to do. Deadly sick of it. Only thing I'd suggest in hindsight is that when she chirped Hi, you and tried to hold her questionable power over you, that you might have loudly insisted that another person help you as you don't tolerate petty power plays.
And Ms Morgan, I suspect that you watching the surgery will actually be one of the few - if not the only - perk of having the surgery.
Ack!
I'll be saying a couple of extra prayers for you (and Bil, supporting husbands need love too). Seriously, I'm glad it has come to a point where you'll continue to get some answers.
Looking at your drawings brought back many good memories that I wish we could have again. Lord knows you'll need your fingers to play your songs to fill me with healing power. :wink:
Be good.
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