I can’t seem to work out in comfort unless I can identify at least one person fatter than me in the room. I can’t explain it, but I find security in knowing that if some broad thinks to herself “Oh God, if I ever get that big, shoot me!” she’s likely staring at someone elses ass instead of mine. I know I should be trying to excersize and get stronger, but boy howdy do I hate the whole gym thing. Even my all chick gym intimidates me. So, I decided to try a bit of yoga. No mirrors there.
Feeling all triumphant, I marched into a “gentle” yoga class hoping to find some flexibility and a bit of zen. Well, during class I was trying to do my best “warrior” and felt something in my arm kind of tweak. It stung, but no big deal. I shrugged it off, finished class, and patted my little ego on the back. The next day, I feel like I pulled a muscle and it hurt to put weight on it. Eh, I’ll just give it time right? Finally, a few weeks later I have to admit that its time to see my doc. I can’t lift my right arm more than a few inches and forget about carrying anything. Dammit! I’m trying to be all healthy and shit and I hurt my arm stretching?! And now I get to go see yet another doctor because I just don’t spend enough time at Northwestern Memorial. I should get some kind of frequent customer deal. Free fro-yo in the cafeteria after your 10th office visit. Somethin. Jeez.
I suit up in my winter armor and take the train downtown to pass through those all to familliar doors. Here we go again. My doc asks his usual “how ya doin” and we review current meds etc and then the inevitable “How’d ya do it?”
“Did you fall on it?”
“What were you doing?”
(heavy sigh)”Yeah. I know it sounds dumb, but that’s what happened.”
I feel exceptionially stupid at this moment, but he reassures me that I probably haven’t done anything major to my limb, but that I need to go to see the ortho guys downstairs. Fab. Add one more doc to my roster. Anyone else want my cash? Get in line.
“I just had a scan on Friday of everything but my arms. Go figure.”
“What were the results?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have an appointment to see my doctor for results until the 28th.”
“They should be ready by now. I can get them for you.”
And then he WALKED OUT THE DOOR! Wha?! Um…results NOW?! But..uh.. I’m not ready! I have to gear up for scan results and prepare myself and go to my safe happy place and all that crap. And I’m going to get them here and NOW?! Whaaaaaaaaaaa? OK. dontfreakdontdreakdontfreak. I’m FREAKING.
Whats left of my internal organs leaped into my throat as I heard him turn the knob. I must have looked completely mental, because he actual chuckled a bit. CHUCKLED. Chuckling. What does chuckling MEAN?!
“Here. I’ll let you read it.”
I jumped to the bottom of the page. The report in almost English is always there, in all caps for some reason.
“UNREMARKABLE SCAN OF THE ABDOMEN, CHEST AND PELVIS….”
Oh. My. God.
What a bizarre choice of words for something so incredibly meaningful to me in this instant. But I’ve learned to root for that otherwise banal adjective.
Oh, and those two rascally dots on my liver?
“…ALMOST COMPLETE RESOLUTION OF THE PREVIOUSLY NOTED LOW DENSITY LESIONS ON THE LIVER.” Holy cripes! They’re almost gone! Huzzah! Hooray! Wicked awesome!
“This is certainly good news….”
I didn’t hear the rest. I probably should have been listening but all I could think about is UNREMARKABLE.
My body is almost completely free from any signs of cancer. I want to text everyone I’ve ever met in my life and share my good news. And, of course, my stupid phone is out of juice. Note to self: send stern email to Motorola regarding the very short life of the standard battery on the Q. Nevermind. I’m going to get some serious happy on. I smiled the entire train ride home.
And I feel pretty damn remarkable, thank you very much.