When The "C" Word Is About You
One of the most dreaded letters in the alphabet.
Most of us will not have to go through life being the victim of the word people throw at others to hate.
This primarily applies between males and females, but gay guys are not immune.
Besides that one, the letter stands for other words too. The first one that comes to my mind is cancer. C**t and cancer are two words we don't like to hear. Keep it down; voices carry.
When the "c" word dropped out of my doctor's mouth, he could have then said that I'd won the lottery, and I wouldn't have heard it.
Bla, bla, bla…cancer, bla, bla,bla.
I wrote an article the other day about being sick as a freelance writer, titled, "Do you write when you're sick?" I just wanted to see if any of those who claim to write up to two articles a day would speak up.
They didn't.
To date, most of my surgical visits have been on an outpatient basis, usually for something I caused. Although I didn't cause the need for a knee replacement at 47. I think that was my longest hospital stay at four days.
By the time I first entered the ER on November 24, worsening symptoms of whatever I had began to appear.
One week later, on December 1, I was back in the ER. Symptoms had morphed and deteriorated. I was there for 48 hours, amidst COVID patients and such, for which New Mexico is now a hotbed.
I'd never be a good heroin or meth addict because my veins are practically non-existent. I insisted an ultrasound be used for the last poke because there were so many misses.
I got to visit every radiologic lab at the University of New Mexico Hospitals.
It's interesting. It's like a marketing timeline. Drill down until you come to the most likely scenario, building on the research you've generated.
Who knows how many doctors I saw in those 48 hours. And the nurses, and the staff. They were so overwhelmed, and I just had to remain patient. But finally, I was able to get a biopsy, and that's when the alphabet came back into play.
I was paid a visit by the attending physician who would discharge me.
It went something like this. My lymph nodes are in a state of hyperactivity. As a result, lumps that I couldn't detect were all over my body. He stated that signs were pointing towards lymphoma and could possibly be…cancerous.
Crap.
I had forgotten to water the indoor plants. There were dishes in the sink. And my whole house looked like it had been turned upside down, being sick for a month already. Would I be able to clean up this mess?
After receiving my discharge papers, it was off to Walgreen's for the requisite new therapy, then home.
I just went to bed.
Until the final diagnosis, there's nothing to do but wait. I could clean up my house. But I don't feel like it.
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