2006-06-26, 12:26 p.m.
I suppose the first thing you want to know is, WHAT’S UP WITH THE NOB ON MY GLAND?
Heh. I managed to say “nob” and “gland” all in the same sentence. So what is the correct spelling, anyway? Nob, or knob? Or gnob? Dictionary.com says it’s “knob”, but I decree that henceforth, any kind of bodily knob will be known as a gnob.
I had to lie down on a table but I managed to keep ALL of my clothes on, and there were three folks hovering about: an ultrasound tech, a nurse tech of some kind, and the Good Doctor. Here’s what they did: the ultrasound tech found my gnob and kept it up on the screen, the Good Doctor navigated via ultrasound and stuck the needle in my gland gnob, and the nurse tech person responded by doing something that I couldn’t see – perhaps, sucking on the end of a tube – I dunno - whenever the GD said “…aaaand – aspirate!”
They did four sticks on my one gnob. There was some fluid-filled part, and there was a solid-ish part. The original plan was to drain all the liquid out of the gnob with the first stick, but apparently the liquid was very thick.
Me: Thick with cancer?
GD: No, thick like honey. It’s actually a good indicator.
Me: Mmmmm. Honey.
GD: Yes, sometimes they are filled with a really thin liquid like water, sometimes it’s a little thicker like motor oil, and sometimes it’s really thick like honey.
GD: The thicker the fluid, like honey, the more likely it is that your gnob is benign.
Me: Mmmmmm. Honey.
GD: Yes, mmmmmm.
Honestly, I couldn’t stop saying “Mmmmmm.” And although, the Good Doctor never really said “gnob,” he did pass my sense of humor test by responding “Yes, mmmmm.”
So their plan to drain the whole thing with the first stick was thwarted by the thickness of my gnob-juice, and they ended up doing a total of four sticks to get some liquid, and then some of the solid bits, too.
It kind of hurt but it was a fer piece less painful than getting my belly button pierced. A lot less bleeding, too. Very little bleeding, what with the very fine needle and all.
So that was that. I went to work, I finished up some fundraiser preparations, and then DW and Don and I hit the road to go to Corpus Christi for the Fishing Fundraiser Extravaganza.
By the end of the evening, I was (1) tired, (2) in quite a bit of pain on my neck: it hurt to talk and swallow, two things I do a LOT, and at which I EXCEL, and (3) really, really cranky. The fun part about doing these fundraisers is that you work with quite a few volunteers, and volunteers don’t like to think. They like to ask lots of questions that require ME to do all the thinking for THEM, and by the end of evening, when I was asked some very obvious questions about what I wanted somebody to do, (like, should we leave all the coolers full of ice and beer out here in the parking lot unprotected, or should we load them up in our vehicles and keep them locked up overnight – DUH!) (because what the flying fuck do you think might happen to a gigantic unprotected cooler full of ice and beer left out in a fishing marina parking lot overnight?) I had to reply, “I cannot answer one more question about what I want somebody else to do. Do what seems like the obviously smartest choice and let me do what I’m doing here,” which, of course, was thinking and working and talking and answering questions and imparting information and making announcements, and a jillion other things, including swallowing.
And then in a brilliant move, my dear husband DW let me know, as I drove him back to our hotel because he had enjoyed the benefits of the coolers full of iced-down beer a bit too much (fine, fine, it was an appropriate situation, and at least I didn’t figure out he was buzzed as he drove ME home) that one of his friends (not Don, who’s smarter than that) had come down to this fishing tournament with no CLUE where he was spending the night, and was in fact staying the night in our hotel room.
Yeah, that’s EXACTLY what I said, too. What the FUCK?
I was in such a good mood by that time that I tried to find another hotel room in Corpus Christi, not for the Friend-of-DW, but for MYSELF because I had HAD IT with the nonsense, but there no were rooms available anywhere. That’s one busy town.
And of COURSE the friend sleeps the sleep of the dead, and of COURSE he’s about 40 pounds overweight, and of COURSE he snores like a motherfucker.
I was sitting there in bed at one point, in tears, trying to see the clock to see how much longer I was going to have to be in hell, and DW asked me “Do you want the extra pillow?” I said, “No, I want your car keys. I’m leaving.” He told me to chill out, and proceeded to use the extra pillow to bludgeon his friend mercilessly, who eventually got the hint, rolled over, and quit snoring. I was secretly hoping that the sleep apnea had finally killed him.
I don’t think DW understood how bad I was feeling by the end of Friday, because I tend to downplay things like lack of sleep and fear and emotional upset and stress and pain, so to him, it was just a matter of letting his stupid friend sleep in our room. To me, it was a matter of taking a long, hard, trying day and turning it into a truly shitty day. I just wanted to SLEEP.
They left at 5:00 Saturday morning to go fishing, and I managed to sleep another 5 hours in a nice, quiet, cold hotel room. I was in a much better mood Saturday, and by Saturday afternoon, I was laughing along at the stories. I get mad, and yea though my vengeance be swift, I get over it quickly, which is a lucky thing for those around me. Can you imagine if I were a grudge-holder? The earth would incinerate under the pressure of my white-hot anger.
So Saturday, the fundraiser thing ran from about 1:00 to 6:00, and I was all well-rested and in a good mood, and things ran very smoothly. We had fun, and I think we even made a little money. I should have taken a picture of my neck on Saturday, because it really looked like a hickey. A very classy hickey on the neck of the executive director of the nonprofit throwing a fundraiser for a scholarship fund. I was really waiting for anybody to make a remark because I was going to skewer them, unless they were my friend and I liked them. Alas, my plans for skewering were thwarted. Apparently nobody cares enough about me to look at my neck. Hmmph.
But I know YOU care enough. Here’s how it looks today: like a bruise. Just another Monday morning neck bruise.
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Look at how long and crepey be my skinny white neck! Pretty!