April 1, 2013
Pitty the fool that decides to pull one over on me this April Fool’s Day. I’m in no mood. Wait. I am in ‘a mood’, but not the one that is all about fun filled trickery. I’m in a ‘don’t fuck with me, I’m wound so tight I could explode’ mood, the kind that sends men and children running for the hills at the mere sight of me.
I found out Friday that I need to meet with my primary care doc for a pre-surgery physical today! At this point I’m wondering if there is anyone out there who isn't getting a piece of me.
The truth be told, I don’t mind my doc, my day is pretty much shot anyway. He is a cool guy with a good sense of humor and easy on the eyes. While I’m there he listens to my heart, checks my breathing and then we basically talk for 30 minutes straight. He tells me stories of cancer patients he’s had, much younger than me, who have endured horrible bouts with the C word. Some even passed away. He all but promises me the mass they see on my ovaries will turn out to be nothing. We chat away like two college buddies talking baseball stats over beer, except our conversation revolves around cancer. All the while it never dawns on me I could be one of ‘those people’ who end up in one of his stories someday. In fact, I’m feeling overly optimistic as long as I can tamp down that annoying little voice inside my head.
An hour later I’m downstairs getting the ultrasound of my ovaries.
The technician chuckles.
“It's much more exciting to see a fetus bouncing around in there!” I say.
After she rubs the probe around on my lower belly for a while, she then hands me a 'special tool’. This one is designed to see my ovaries from the INSIDE. Oh my, I suddenly feel like I’m in an episode of Sex in the City.
“Thanks Samantha.” I say while inserting the probe so the tech to take a closer look.
As I smoke a cigarette and bask in the afterglow, I realize it’s time to head home and begin, yet another, colon prep. Bye-bye three days of buffet food.