If you check ye olde time stamp, you will see that it is Friday morning on the 29th day of October. If you remember my earlier post, it was about when I was scheduled to have my left ass cheek lump re-biopsied. But what’s this? I’m writing here, on my laptop, while seated on my ass cheeks (bilaterly) on my couch. Now, so you know: There is no CT scanner in my living room (an MRI would be cool though. I could turn it on and watch all the metal in the house fly towards it). There are no surgeons, or tru-cut needles, or anything in here that one would need to biopsy an ass cheek.
Scheduling conflict came up last Monday and I was given a later in the day on Friday or a this coming Monday early option. For real, I am a bitch in the afternoon. I get very tired. They did not want me in there at one thirty. And that’s the line I used to excuse my absolutely uncalled for attitude problem when I talked to the poor woman in scheduling. She laughed… and it’s true.
Sad fact is, it’s just as well. I went to Dana Farber to see the fine folks there (and man, they are really good. I like them. I also dig the orthopedic oncologist’s secretary. Just you find there are people who know how to deal with… people this crap). We have a plan in place, just on hold pending the results this time (and unless there’s a strong reason to indicate otherwise, it will be put in to practice when I see them in three weeks). I got a flu shot, too. It was an inactive vaccine, so the sniffling cold feeling I have right now is either from an elevator button at Faulkner Hospital or a reaction to the actual fact that I had a foreign (though inert) something or other injected into my blood stream. It can happen.
So I feel kinda crappy from that. Also, Penny had a bit of a something going on herself… and it wasn’t helped by the fact she gets really, really, really excited when mama returns from… well, anywhere. If I go to the doctor or into the bathroom and then re-appear in front of her, she’s frickin’ thrilled. Sometimes she gets so excited she starts coughing and then can’t stop, especially if she is feeling a little yech to start. Like this time…
Penny coughs loudly. I mean, so loudly that I can’t imagine why the police don’t show up at our door at 3 am citing noise ordinance violations. I mean, so loudly that when she coughed while a vet up in the bigger clinic was holding her closely, the vet was hopeful she might have the hearing back in her ear sometime by the weekend’s end. She coughs constantly. It was very tiring on Tuesday night, and on Wednesday our regular vet (who is the sweetest man ever, even if — or maybe especially because — it’s hard to call him our “normal vet”) said Penny had a slight fever, needed her teeth cleaned, was fat, and also looked incredibly intelligent and that he was not at all surprised the Nobel committee awarded her another honor in the smart category. He also gave her some antibiotics and cough medicine, and a sedative (a sedative is a sometimes food!) for when mama has to go to the doctor, so that when mama comes home, Penny doesn’t get so worked up she makes herself ill. He also gave her a sticker, as per usual, for being such a good girl (not because she gives a rat’s ass about stickers, trust me).
I have a groupie. She is seven years old, shaped like a beer keg, sheds something fierce, has a Nobel Prize in smart and pretty, and also really likes to eat cat poop. Actually, I’m not sure if that last one is really something that I want in a groupie.
I’d say more, but truthfully, it’s speculative and I’m just tired and have a groupie I need to hug. She’s feeling better, incidentally.