Kage Baker would have called for early closing tonight. I’m going to do that, too.
Saw the oncologist this afternoon, for another attempt at a biopsy. Very nice doctor, deft and careful and considerate – she was, however, defeated by the peculiarities of my personal architecture.
Dr. R: It won’t be comfortable, but it won’t hurt as much.
Me: (willing to believe) Cool.
Dr. R: And I’ll be careful, so you probably won’t bleed at all.
Me: Yes, I will.
Begin procedure, count to 10 or so – not too bad, the doctor really is good at what she does. Then she says Uh-oh – which is nothing you ever want a doctor to say – and I can tell right away it’s gonna be another mop job.
Much cleaning and patching later, the doctor is conferring sharply with her procedures clerk about how soon they can schedule surgery. So, when my cardiologist clears me, I’ll probably be in hospital sometime week after next to settle this. Which is the good news.
The bad news is that there is still considerably mystery as to what exactly is wrong with me – but they’re closing in on the culprit. Doctors are always advised that when you hear hoofbeats, you should expect horses: zebras are very rare, and odds are it’s just old Dobbin racing down the lane toward you. But keep your mind open, because sometimes – sometimes – the zebras are loose.
My problem is that the approaching herd is mostly horses. Probably. But there’s a small zebra in there as well; and they haven’t got his license plate yet.
But tonight I am tired and sore and light-headed. So I’m going to bed, Dear Readers.
Talk to you tomorrow.