Today, K called Agent Skully's nurse to chat and got a little surprise. Dr. Skully had hoped that the pathologists at F'in' Famous Cancer Cancer Hospital would have identified my little surgical scraps by now. Then she could meet with other experts on Monday and give us a plan by Tuesday. However, the little bits of my tumor on the slides that we so lovingly carried to my appointment went to the inboxes of Dr. Pokey and Dr. Droopy in the Pathology Department.* This means that, until late next week or even the following week, there may be no ID on that crud they dug out of my face in mid-August.
I still don't know whether I am facing (or the back of my face is facing) a terrifying, potentially deadly tumor eating its happy way towards my brain, whether my skull is just turning to powder (which is, surprisingly, not such a big deal), or whether I need another operation to decide (which would be a real laugh riot). I realize that suspense makes for a good story, but I was hoping for a short story, not a novel.
Thus, for the next week or so, every time I get a little headache, or a tickle in the back of my throat, I will get really paranoid that something like Miss Muffet's spider is wiggling around inside my head. And it's fall allergy season.
* Perhaps I am being a bit harsh here. Drs. Pokey and Droopy may need to use some extra special herbs and spices on my li'l' bits, but the ones from August are already too processed. Without these preparations to bring out the flavor, maybe it's hard to tell the difference between blackened Cajun bone scraps and a carcinoma souffle. Dr. Agent Skully may need to go in and nibble off another piece. Yum.
This picture does have something to do with this post: