This morning I was the proud recipient of a triple biopsy of the groin, which sounds like something I would like to award to a hometown sports rival rather than myself. (Greetings, Dallas Cowboys! A Friend Has Gifted You One (1) Triple Biopsy of the Groin! Call at Any Time to Redeem Your Special Gift!) They kept warning me it was going to be so painful, utterly painful, and while yes, it was kind of painful, it honestly had nothing on, say, having your veins explode before your eyes and then having 20 cc of gadolinium leaked into your arm. Overall, I am a satisfied customer.
Afterward, cauterized and yet somehow also bleeding, I accompanied Juan on an errand where we purchased more of the childlike, dog-print cotton underwear I favor despite the fact that I am a 28-year-old woman. I buy the large size underwear even though that underwear is supposedly meant for people whose pants sizes are two to four sizes larger than my own. More cloth = better deal! Right? In Deliverance, a dude used his balled-up underwear to clot up a gigantic arrowhead wound in his side. If he had been wearing the small size dog-print bikini underwears, where would he be now? I ask you.
I guess something is seriously wrong with my liver now. I have been scheduled in Urgent Care at the liver clinic. I'm sorry, but, for real? Gastroenterologist, Hand Specialist, Gynecologist, Neurologist, Hepatologist. And that's just this week. Wouldn't it just be easier to explode me with some jolly-looking TNT and start from scratch? Roadrunner says aye, Kara says aye. The motion passes. Get out the TNT.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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2 comments:
well, you are most certainly living up to the title of your memoirs. the absurdity of the waitwhat's and comeagain's may be perfectly peppering all that nose-to-the-grindstone writing you're doing this month... ehh?
Only partially caffeinated, my brain turned Hepatologist into Herpetologist. *That* would be quite the referral.
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