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I turned 36 today. What I find myself wanting most for my birthday is knowing I will turn 37. Damn, that's morbid. The only currently confirmed test for this week is the MRI on Thursday, because not only did my primary nurse in charge of scheduling things go on vacation this week, her replacement had an emergency yesterday afternoon and had to leave the office, and my GP has failed to send over the requested bloodwork results yet. Hopefully the rest of the scheduling will happen today, but with the MRI being on Thursday, I think it will probably be yet another weekend of not knowing, because the oncologist won't see me until the other tests are done. Can't exactly recommend and start a treatment program if you don't know exactly what you're dealing with. Argh.
I find myself swinging wildly between two extremes. They got the test wrong and any second now someone is going to call me and take it back. I want this so bad it hurts, so I actually try to actively knock it down as much as I can. Which leads to the other extreme, the test was right, but it's too late. After all, the little fucker was hiding so well they still haven't found where it started, only where it moved to. And if it can hide that well, who knows where else it's managed to get without anyone noticing.
In more cheerful news, Zen and Pete remain so awesome they need to invent a new word like superduperextraextremeAWESOME!!! (exclamation points included in proper spelling) for them. Despite chunks of yesterday sucking like a hoover, there was still fun to be had in the form of some Merlin, some Twitch City (with bonus Hugh cameos), a ridiculously twisted bunny game on the Wii, and a Batman cake with my name on it, and it also had a plastic Batman toy on top that I spent entirely too much time playing with on their kitchen floor.
And this morning I geared myself up and called the meal place and read them the riot act over their screw ups and it felt GOOD. I totally played both the cancer card and threatened to take away what I assured them would be at least six months of my patronage if they screwed up like this again. I thought the guy was gonna start crying as he groveled and apologized and knocked off the delivery fees for the month. It was kind of beautiful.
Thirty six. Come ooooon, thirty seven.
I find myself swinging wildly between two extremes. They got the test wrong and any second now someone is going to call me and take it back. I want this so bad it hurts, so I actually try to actively knock it down as much as I can. Which leads to the other extreme, the test was right, but it's too late. After all, the little fucker was hiding so well they still haven't found where it started, only where it moved to. And if it can hide that well, who knows where else it's managed to get without anyone noticing.
In more cheerful news, Zen and Pete remain so awesome they need to invent a new word like superduperextraextremeAWESOME!!! (exclamation points included in proper spelling) for them. Despite chunks of yesterday sucking like a hoover, there was still fun to be had in the form of some Merlin, some Twitch City (with bonus Hugh cameos), a ridiculously twisted bunny game on the Wii, and a Batman cake with my name on it, and it also had a plastic Batman toy on top that I spent entirely too much time playing with on their kitchen floor.
And this morning I geared myself up and called the meal place and read them the riot act over their screw ups and it felt GOOD. I totally played both the cancer card and threatened to take away what I assured them would be at least six months of my patronage if they screwed up like this again. I thought the guy was gonna start crying as he groveled and apologized and knocked off the delivery fees for the month. It was kind of beautiful.
Thirty six. Come ooooon, thirty seven.