I have found the true path.! The path. to enlightenment! The shining path.! (Oops! Skip that last one.)
In any case, nearly one week sooner than I predicted, this morning (making me at least as accurate as people who get paid to predict recessions, presidential races, and the like), I received an e-mail from Dr. Prince Clivus saying that my pathology slides were complete. THERE IS NO SIGN OF TUMOR!!! It's all infection and necrotic bone, probably caused by radiation. Dr. The Jedi Master was the only one who was close to right. I'll send him the prize money tomorrow.
Alright. I can now really breathe. Honestly, three weeks ago, I was thinking about calling hospice and hiring Justin Bieber to sing at my funeral. (Things have really dried up for him since he was caught snorting a Le Whif, so he's looking for work.) Then, I was worried they would take out my whole clivus, and, without this essential bony support, the inside of my head would collapse onto spine, so I would look like a giant Pez dispenser. But it was not to be.
There is a saying in medicine based on the fact that common things happen commonly. "When you hear hoofbeats, don't look for zebras," meaning that to spend too much time looking for a rare disease to explain symptoms caused by a common one is foolish.* However, I have always been a zebra. But now, I'm not a zebra. I'm a friggin' Okapi. Even the experts were confused (except the Jedi Master, who had been around the block enough to suspect the truth).
Now, what to do about that rotting rest of my clivus after the antibiotics? That's a question for another time and another set of doctors.
*. . . or, a horse is a horse is a horse of course.