Hi. I KNOW. I've been a little unwell. A few weeks ago I had an EGD and they, thankfully, didn't find any ulcers, but they did take a bunch of biopsies. Which I hadn't heard anything on until yesterday when the good doctor's nurse called and said "hi, we need to see you this week about the results of your biopsies". I said "well alright, is everything okay?". To which she said "the doctor will talk with you on Friday." So it's Friday. My appointment is in 5.5 hours. I am flipping the muthafahk out. Seriously. Why didn't I ask for a morning appointment so I could just come home early and cry? See, this is a little tiny town. There are no rules saying you have to give 18 forms of ID, your DNA and a retina scan to get your results. Most of the time you get a letter saying, "Yo, everything's cool, bro, keep on carryin' on" or a message on your machine to the same effect. I don't think I have ever once been called in to get results on any kind of test or lab results or anything like that. So I sit and I wait. I journal. I watch Joshie Mark go through one of his hundreds of wardrobe changes for the day. I blast country music as loud as I can. I put on the fiercest shirt I have (Milan Lucic, Bruins game 7 jersey...It says: "Good Game, Good Game, I'm going to Fu*cking Kill You, Good Game) and I remind myself that I'm a fierce warrior queen and I've been through the very bottom of the bucket of bullshit. How's that saying go? "Damaged women are dangerous, they already know they can survive"? That's me. Damaged and dangerous.
**Hi, so I will OF COURSE let you know what my body is trying to kill me with THIS month. Love my readers, thanks for sticking with us