Age is not kind to me.
I have mentioned before that I looked all of 24 until I was well into 35 years of age. But then suddenly my body decided it was time to catch up. Jeez...
I've had a problem with my hands for awhile. I blame the boobs, of course, but I've had this bum index finger for a week, now, and I am about sick of it. I think I must have jammed it. That's how it feels - like it needs to pop, big time.
And then the call from the radiologist came on Tuesday - another view, if you don't mind us smashing your boobs again. PFFT. Hey, what can I tell you? I am very good about the annual stuff - it's the intervening crap that I ignore.
At first, I was pretty unconcerned about the matter. It comes with the territory, see. Er - or not. As in they can't see through the damned things. But the caller's sense of haste disturbed me. This week, she wanted. Soon? I managed to arrange it for this morning, knowing Trooper would be off and able to not only help me navigate but also be there should it get ugly. (I may not have mentioned this but I have a sort of phobia about driving to places I haven't been before. Maps? I go nowhere without them. Ever.)
After the initial surprise, Trooper was happy to do it. I could tell there was concern but I tempered it - hell, for all we know they're padding the bill to the insurance company. This morning, we headed into town. Another smoosh and smash and some waiting. (Those capes are utterly insufficient in size for public waiting rooms, mind you.) Then the surprise visit with an ultrasound gal to get an even better view. The last time I had the surprise ultrasound, I wound up with my guts sliced open. You can understand my dismay.
She was a sweet gal - very nice and casual but clinical which is just how I like it. Not there to make friends - I am there to rely on your education and personal knowledge and I am really hoping you didn't do keg stands the night before the class on in-depth boob analysis, beotch.
I got the all clear and tossed a towel to mop up - after she used it to clean the fracking phallic sounder. Memories, my peeps. Ah, sweet memories. Sheesh. I said clinical, not health clinical! Now I get gooey again in 6 months (Merry Christmas!) and hope that the whatever in the hell it was remains in its current state of being. Medicine is hardly removed from witch doctor-y, really. It's guesswork enhanced with technology. A multi-choice question with maybe one option already struck out for you.
I'll say this - if this damned index finger doesn't shape up, it's OUTTA HERE! I will take no nonsense anymore. This is my line in the sand - I refuse to have anything else going to hell on/in me. I will amputate you.
So that was my week. It's a crazy life, people. An absolutely crazy ride. Enjoy it while you still can!