The Way Things Are






Drinking like a woman.
2006-05-09, 2:01 p.m.


Monday recap: Whatís that you say? Mondays are not interesting enough for recaps? Well, I could tell you about Piperís anal glands, couldnít I? All there is to that story is that they are blessedly empty now, thanks to the vetís gloved finger and a couple of paper towels, and the vet says that large breeds donít usually have anal glandular problems, so hereís hoping. It was really gross there for a few days: she would stink up the house, and then lick lick lick lick lick lick. Yuck. She kisses us with that mouth.

Oh, and Piper weighs 35.4 pounds now. Thatís a whole HELL of a lot of puppy.

AND sheís a big outside girl now. Big enough and smart enough to grasp the concept of the invisible fence. And NO, we donít have those remote control shocker things for our dogs, Miz S. That would be mean, and our invisible fence people refuse to sell those shock-at-will systems, and I wouldnít be able to use it, anyway, as it would make me CRY.


I was chatting with Jane today, and she very politely inquired as to the status of my lymph nodes, and without really saying it in so many words (she used that eye-rolling emoticon instead) let me know that letting this drag on for a week without going to the doctor was a bit foolish.

So I went. And Dr. S dug around under my jaw, and poked the side of my face, and dug around inside my mouth, and looked in every orifice from the neck up, and declared ďgingivitisĒ. Gross! I do NOT have gingivitis, but okay, Iíll take your amoxicillin, and if the nodes go away and come back, yes, Iíll go to the dentist. But my gums are clean.

But during all of that poking around, she found a thyroid node. Whatís a thyroid node? Perhaps itís a cyst, or perhaps itís a calcifiedÖthingy -- it has to be ultrasounded to see what itís full of.

I asked her if I was going to get a goiter, because my friend (Hi Syllie!) had a brachial cyst, and the side of her neck swole up, and now her nickname is Goiter. Dr. S told me ďOh, yíall are terrible,Ē and punched me on the arm. Unfortunately, I wonít be getting a goiter or anything showy like that. But I have to have my node ultrasounded.

In the words of Dr. S, sometimes itís thyroid cancer, but thatís really manageable, almost like not having cancer at all. Itís the best of all the cancers, and if she HAD to get cancer, she would pick thyroid cancer.

WHEEEE! I said, clapping my hands and dancing around the exam room. Yay! The best of all of the cancers!

Calm down Ė itís not cancer YET. Itís just a node, waiting for its ultrasound. What would be very cool would be to get diagnosed with some kind of thyroid issue, and get some meds for that, and have this brain cloud lift. I understand thatís a symptom of thyroid whatsits Ė foggy brain.

So, thanks, Jane. Thanks a whole hell of a lot. I walk in with swole-up lymph nodes, and walk out two tubes of blood lighter, with a thyroid ultrasound referral in my purse, and a wad of cotton stuck to my arm with a Snoopy bandaid.


Driving back to the office, I passed a Payless shoe place, which I SWORE in a former life Iíd never bless with my patronage again, but gee shit, did yíall see the cute sandals in the newspaper flier this weekend? So I stopped in and I bought these and these. Rock on with these stylish sandals.

I donít know, I just donít know. But retail therapy is very uplifting when youíve been presented with the possibility of the best of all the cancers. By the way, the best of all cancers calls for paying less than $40 on two pairs of all-manmade-materials shoes.

I know it has been a while since I gave you a picture, but my picture phone/email alliance has been broke all to shit. Iím going to give you a rerun: one of my very favorite shots of all time. I was taking what I thought was simply a post-coital still life of a torn-up bed and scattered clothes, but I got so much more. Please note Mrs. Beans skulking by with my underpants in her mouth. YOUíRE WELCOME.

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