Friday, December 07, 2012

romancing the stones

(Note:  This entry won't make much sense if you haven't read the previous two.)

When I got home from work last night and opened my mailbox, I noticed an envelope from my doctor's office nestled between the Netflix discs and Trader Joe's flyers.  I went upstairs, sat on my couch, and turned the envelope over and over in my hand.

Okay, deep breaths, I thought to myself.  No matter what it says, at least you've got health insurance and an amazing family and boyfriend.  Just open the fucking thing.

And I flung it on the coffee table and booted up my computer.  I began reading an e-mail, and then I forced myself to get up and grab the envelope and open it.

Deep breaths...

I got me some gallstones!  "Numerous prominent gallstones", to be exact.

As a bonus, I also have "a partially duplicated right-sided renal collecting system", which caused me to race to my computer and google it.  I'll save you the trouble:  basically, it means that I have two ureters draining a single kidney.  It very rarely poses any problems, and it occurs in about 1% of the population.

Seriously, God?  THAT'S the fucking 1% I belong to?!?

Anyway, I have an appointment with my doctor on Tuesday and we'll see what to do about these goddamned gallstones.  Obviously I'm not thrilled about this, but it could have been much, much worse.  And I've known people who had their gallbladders out, and although it wasn't Happy Kitten Orgasm Funtime, they both said it wasn't all that bad as far as surgeries go.  So if it comes to that, well, I refer you back to the part about health insurance and my amazing family and boyfriend.  I'll be aight.
Further updates as warranted, of course.

As thanks for listening, I present to you a fabulous photograph courtesy of Padre.  Background story for those of you who didn't read my November media update (and why didn't you, why do you hate me, oh my god there is no love for me in this world):  we went to the San Diego Zoo on Thanksgiving, where we watched an upstart young gorilla throw a handful of dirt and leaves on the head of a startled silverback.  The silverback reached up and brushed his head off, and I said to Glenn, "That was probably a poor life choice."

And how, because as soon as the young gorilla's back was turned, this happened:

Nobody will ever be able to convince me that animals don't have a sense of humor.