Skip to main content

Infuriation, stepwise.

Bit by bit, day by day, my big appointment draws nearer. I'm going up to Philly on Friday to see some specialists, two of the best available, and find out exactly what's coming next. Surgery? Surveillance? Chemo?

As I've said before, most likely it'll be surgery. The big scary one. With the slicing my whole belly open and lifting of organs and snipping out of a dozen little lymph nodes all nestled up against my aorta and vena cava. Yeah, that one.

From what I'm seeing, if we go that route I'll probably be off from work for as few as two or as many as three months, more likely the three. I should be okay though; as I said these are two of the best guys around.


So of course what's actually worrying me is far more...trivial. I'm trying to coordinate with my current urologist's office to send all the reports and results and other records they have for me up to the Philly guys. I'm worried things are going to be left out and we'll waste time trying to get them after the fact. They also want the specimin/slides (aka, bits of my ball) overnighted to them so they can do their own read of the cell counts. I've been struggling to get the address to my urologist's office so they can't have sent it yet. Frustrating as my appointment is in two days. Grr.

It's a big appointment. These guys are serious dudes and this is a serious matter. What they decide can affect my health and even my survival, so naturally I want them to have all the information they need to make that decision.

But there's only so much I can do. Sure, I could beat up on myself about not finding the address quicker or trying harder, but that self-criticism isn't going to change anything. I just have to keep trying my best; as long as I'm trying my best, there's nothing I can really regret or criticize. I have to put aside these little worries and focus on the big picture: In all likelihood, I'm going to be ok.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know