Queen of Same

There's a little black spot in my brain today.


It's the same old thing as yesterday.


With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
It's my destiny to be the queen of same.

.... Which is much better than the way The Police sang it*, I'd say.

While I was a bit worried during my 3-month follow-up yesterday that in my emotionally unstable state on top of my hospital phobia I might burst into tears in the MRI tube, disrupting the process which requires NO MOVING with my head wedged in a hockey mask between shoved-in hand-towels to HOLD IT IN PLACE - THERE'S NO CRYING IN MRI TUBES, instead I was unnaturally calm and the worst part was when the tech (we'll call him Greg, because I think that's his name; he said he remembered me from last time and that I was less nervous this time) had a little trouble injecting the contrast dye. I have the world's smallest veins. Check the Guiness Book, if you're so skeptical. And while you're doing that, I'll be over here incredibly shrinking my cat with my defective-veined arm.


Yes, after all, I always seem to have catties on the brain.


For those of you keeping score and unamused by obscure misquoted Punk New Wave song lyrics from the early 80s or cute and scientificy cat and head shots from this week: my 12-year-old doctor says the radiologist says there's no change in three months to my thumbnail-sized cyst on the front, right side of my brain, and we will discuss it further at my annual physical in November and maybe follow up with more hockey-masked, collapsed-vein, contrast-dyed, early morning, unnaturally peaceful, car-alarm-aliens-from-Contact-jack-hammer-broken-refrigerator-sounding MRIs in another 9-12 months.

Thank you, and good day.

(Please see "King of Pain" lyrics through google as needed.)

Same old thing as yesterday

By unpopular demand, I give you. . . my brain.

BFFs

Apple & Tree: Me and my neurologically challenged Buddy.

I have a benign cyst the size of a thumbnail in my brain. The medical professionals in my life say it's probably been there for years, isn't pressing on anything, and needs no further attention except for a follow-up look in three months. (I got the impression that was so I wouldn't sue them if in fact my head exploded in the meantime.)

I also have an amazing set of pictures of my brain, including the spot in several shots, that I'll be scrapbooking this weekend. Oh, except for the part about scrapbooking.

(Oh, I also have "minor sinus disease" and a couple polyps in my sinuses, but who's counting?)

Thanks for caring.

See also: Cat Lovers Appreciate Soul Mate in Vatican.
From the NYTimes:

Along with an enormous entourage and a message of peace, the Pope brought with him to the United States a lifelong love of cats.... His house in Germany [has a] garden guarded by a cat statue.... And Benedict is, without a doubt, the first pope to have had an authorized biography of him written by a cat [“Joseph and Chico: The Life of Pope Benedict XVI as Told by a Cat” (Ignatius Press, 2008)].... Ms. Fredericks [cat-loving Catholic fan of the pope] said she thought that the pope would benefit from continued contact with animals. “I think every church should have a cat colony,” she said. “But I don’t think that will happen.”

Meta-Hypchondria Plus Phobia Equals Irritation (which beats irrigation)

So I canceled a class today because my doctor scheduled a CT scan (when and why did they stop calling them "CAT scans"?! So mean!) as retribution for my not feeling all better after two rounds of antibiotics for a sinus infection. Have I mentioned my special condition: meta-hypochondria? It's where I think I have hypochondria, but I don't really. So I feel guilty going to the doctor because I'm afraid I might not really have the symptoms I have. I told her about this. She gave me a look. She is 12 years old and has not yet developed a sense of humor.

Did I mention my other for serious condition: hospital phobia? Well, happily, at the hospital I visited this afternoon they're nothing if not efficient, probably exacerbated by the technician's recognition that even though I was in for a common, non-invasive procedure that would last less than three minutes, there was a good chance I was going to pass out while there because sometimes I forget to breathe.

Speaking of efficient. So, I was anticipating hearing back from my doctor in a couple of days, at which point she would tell me what the CT showed and send me on to a scheduled ENT appointment one month from now.

She just called. Two hours. Turns out when they take two days to get back to you with results it's not that it takes them that long to look at them. They're just making you wait because, why not?

The radiologist was, I quote my GP doctor (the 12 year old without a discernible sense of humor) "unimpressed with the sinus infection." We don't know what that will mean for dealing with my ongoing symptoms - probably schedule me to see an allergist down the line. But, it turns out she saw something in my brain she wants to look at some more - the radiologist, that is. My brain! Well, that explains things. Not my symptoms, per se, but things none-the-less. So I now have an MRI scheduled for my head tomorrow morning at another hospital, at 6:30 a.m. Blech. I wasn't planning to leave the house until noon because my campus schedule was morning-free.

The nice thing is, I'm sure it's nothing (but I'm not sure if that's a symptom of my meta-hypochondria or not!). But I'm a little annoyed (a) at their efficiency (I wouldn't have had to cancel my class - coulda started half an hour late and not messed up the end of the semester stuff, if I'd known I'd be in and out so quick), and (b) that my sinuses are "mostly clear" when I've been under the stoopid weather for nearly two months now. (I don't like to have infected sinuses, just like to have an explanation for why I'm sick and a clear path for how FIX IT.)

Fortunately, I watch "House," so I know what to expect with procedures like these: they'll keep escalating in seriousness as doctors war with each other about what's killing me, my condition (meta-hypochondria and hospital phobia) will worsen until I nearly flat line from their giving me the wrong treatment, they'll consider and rule out "lupus" until one of the characters says, "it's never lupus," and then it'll turn out I have a small toad ingested in my brain (I watched 1970s SNL "Barber" sketch, too) that, when removed, returns me to full health, with a paid-off mortgage and completed dissertation to boot.

(While typing this up, the doctor called again, and now I also have to call and pre-register with the hospital tonight like I'm having surgery or something. Did I mention I'm grateful to have insurance?!)

Communion

Last night I dreamed I was in a large, open-roofed, multi-level church, and it was time to "take communion." The church felt like a mix between the two churches I most grew up in: a big Southern Baptist one in Dallas and a big Anglican one in Malaysia. But it was populated by at least some people I know from my current (medium, Covenant) church in Mass. Instead of everyone heading to one railing up front (ala the Anglican one), or having ushers deliver the goods to us in our seats (ala Baptist), the large and casual congregation was heading in many intricately organized directions. I joined a group heading up some dangerous, haphazard rungs (not a solid ladder) to an upper floor with nothing but blue sky above. I knew it was not a good idea for us to be climbing so quickly and confidently. A small girl fell off the contraption and banged her head on the barn-like floor. Her hair flew completely off, in one piece, like a wig, but I knew it wasn't a wig. I yelled, "Somebody call 911!" and tried my phone. Which never seems to have reception in my dreams.

I don't know if that's when I woke myself up with the sound of snoring, only to discover, as my mind cleared from sleep, that I wasn't snoring. The sound wasn't coming from my nose or throat. It was coming from my chest. My chest was snoring. It sounded like road crews were doing construction in there as I breathed. Buddy sat next to me staring, half-inquisitively, half-annoyed at the disturbing interruption of our sleep.

But somewhere in the dream, I did get communion. Or it might have been another dream from another recent night. I remember stacking plastic communion cups in holders on the back of the pew in front of me.

Yesterday I got home from work 10 minutes earlier than I normally would on a Thursday night. I left campus about two and a half hours earlier than I usually do. After spending 45 minutes on a one mile stretch of the highway, I got off at the first exit after my school and took the backroads through three towns to get home. In Salem I got stuck on a hill heading up and after backing up and trying a couple of times, made it out of that neighborhood and onto a busier road, where I slip-slided my way up another hill toward Lynn. I stopped the car on the road three times to get out and wipe chunks of frozen snow off my inefficient, half-new and Canadian windshield wipers. I was going so crazy spending two and a half hours in my car on a 13 mile trip home, until I arrived and discovered through that great source of knowledge and communion (TV) that I was not alone. Some people left work at 1 and got home after me. We got less than a foot of snow, but I guess getting it all in about five hours was too much for the plows and traffic to handle.

It felt better knowing I (and the parking lot full of people in cars all around me on the highway) were not being singled out for some cruel experience, but that the whole region of New England was in the same big fat mess. Is that communing - being glad that we're all in the same mess (and thankful that we got out)? Rather mildly, I guess.

I don't usually remember my dreams, but between the party in my bronchial region, the socio-meteorological drama, and the odd dream snippet from last night, I figured Sharing is Caring.