Wednesday, December 9, 2009

B-4, I-2, B-9. BINGO!

B-4, when they had me prone on the CAT scan table, face down, I was jacked up like one of the Borg from Star Trek with an oxygen hose shoved up my nose (oxygen rocks by the way), a mass of intravenous  ports dangling from my right arm, a grabby synchopated blood pressure cuff  on my left arm, and a giant hollow needle imbedded in my back.  I had one moment of babbling panic that was handily and swiftly shut down by The Most Beautiful Nurse Danielle who administered the relaxation "candy" straight into one of my ports. 

In spite of all this, and when all was said and done, I had the (proudly) demented wherewithal to actually ask to see the tissue they had harvested from my, now, pet resident abdominal tumor.  After all, Dr. Hunky Italian Radiologist had done the trick of threading that needle through some of the densest musculature on any human full of raw nerve endings and actual kidneys and spines and such.  I thought I should see, maybe take a picture.  The tech nurse, who by now was relieved that I didn't turn out to B-1 of those who end up screaming or moaning or thrashing during this amazingly freaky procedure, happily held a small bottle in front of my face where I-2 could see floating in clear liquid, a tiny little orange accordianed tube of flesh.  A miniature Cheeto.  We had gotten all stabby with the tumor and it yielded up its cheesy greasy secrets.

Jump cut: 

I O-1 big bit of information - What did those Pathology Goblins discover when they put the Cheeto to the test?  A rare and weird thing called a Spindle Cell Schwannoma.  I knew it had to be something Abby Normal and possibly the result of an alien abduction. I don't mess around...

But in the game of life and survival, I contend that B-9 is the sweetest ball of all to drop out of the cage. Benign. Benign. Benign.  As in not malignant. Not going to kill me.  Just a slow-growing unwelcome claustrophobia-making relative sitting on the couch guzzling vittles and farting.


Next:  The guys who do liver transplants - Will they break out the Ginsus and give me a scar to brag on like that scene in Jaws? Will they fondle my innards and yank this critter out? Will Medicare let them?  Will they return anyone's calls?  Stay tuned...