The Big Scary

I did it. It took me 6 months, but I did it: I made an appointment to have a "swelling" in my neck looked at. First step is an ultrasound. Then, I suspect, will be a biopsy. Naturally, the imaging center was all set to take me immediately, but I still am not quite ready to face reality, so I scheduled the ultrasound for March 11. Enough time so I don't feel panicky right away, but soon enough that I can feel as though I'm Taking Care of Business. Business I should have taken care of in August, when the doctor first made note of it, but I'm trying to not beat myself up or let my mind wander to those dark places so familiar to a hypochondriac. For those of you who have normal patterns of thinking, I'll illustrate what I mean by that "dark places" bit.

The Scene: Medical office. Doctor is sitting somberly behind his desk, shaking his head sadly as he reviews my test results. I am perched on the very edge of a chair in front of his desk, sweating profusely and about to either faint, vomit, or both.

Sad Doctor: "Ms. CrankyPants, Ms. CrankyPants, Ms. CrankyPants...why, oh WHY didn't you get this looked at 6 months ago? We could have saved you! Now...it's far too late." [more sorrowful head shaking]

Panicky Ms. C-P: "Blkhjkdbgysnph!" [inarticulate mumbling, vomiting, or both]

Now-Annoyed Doctor: "Assistant! Remove Ms. CrankyPants from my office at once! See to it she doesn't soil the carpet. And be sure to get her co-payment!"

If I don't do something to stop it (like watch a trashy TV show or read gossip sites online), my terrifying little fantasy gets a lot more involved, but I don't want to totally depress you. So I'll switch to something cheerier:

I'm going bald! Yes, folks, there is an alarming patch of thinning hair that I'm seeing the dermatologist about next week. (Clearly, vanity propels me to the doctor a lot faster than a possibly life-threatening Suspicious Swelling.) Hopefully, the hair loss is caused by something delightful like a fungus that can be cleared up with a smelly and scalp-stinging shampoo, but I'm certainly open to other, deadlier, reasons for this latest addition to Things Wrong with Ms. CrankyPants. Even Capt. Nap is concerned disgusted.

"I can't look at your fungus-covered scalp! It's hideous!"

I'll keep you updated as these medical dramas unfold. In the meantime, I'm watching crap TV, wishing desperately that Dr. Swank's damn diet allowed chocolate, and trying not to touch my hair.