Tuesday, July 04, 2006

recurring nightmares

I started thinking about this post in the shower because I was thinking about what I dreamed last night. And although I can't remember what that was now, I do remember that, albeit strange, it was not scary. I was contrasting this in my head with the nightmare I had two nights ago, a recurring adventure that involves a haunted island at dusk with much, much badness.

I hate scary dreams, but scary life isn't much better.

Although I didn't have to flee from badness or swim to the mainland yesterday, I did see the doctor. This was my first real visit with him since immediately after the surgery, exactly three months ago.

He palpated a mass in the right side of my neck. I told him it was nothing new since surgery and had no complaints about it... and of course it was tender if he was going to keep mashing on it... and we did another ultrasound to take more pictures... and we drew more labwork, including another tumor marker to chance the mass being more cancer. Because it's a possibility.

I'm holding out for scar tissue from the surgery since it's been with me since then. And considering my cancer was totally encapsulated with no lymph or vascular involvement ... and considering I've already finished a round of I-131... and considering that I don't want anything to get any more complicated.

Yesterday I received what I'm hoping is the last hoop that my insurance company needs to fix the financial drama. I'll fax it today, which I hope they'll get tomorrow, and maybe process by the end of the week so that the offices will quit calling me and asking for thousands of dollars that Blue Cross Blue Shield would like to pay for me.

This morning I'm thinking seriously that it would be easier to battle badness with my stellar hand-to-hand combat skills and swim the great divide where you're always about halfway to the other side than worry about scar tissue.

It has to be scar tissue.


Molly Jane said...

James, its probably scar tissure. But I do wish I could be there so we could do something distracting together. Like shave my head, I would definately let you shave my head. Just for fun. Then we, with Maggie of course, could go and get some fake tatoos and gold teeth. We would be very piraty.
Love, Jane.

Unequivocal_Prowess said...

1. It doesn't matter what it is, we can handle it.
2. I am sure your hair is beautiful.
3. I've had nightmares of cheating husbands and new revalations and everything else strange, it's time to come home. I'll be there soon and our family can be together.

If you get nervous, talk to the dog, he knows how to make you feel better when you are worried. But I do believe, now is the time to re-instate the no worrying policy. Period. 'Kay?

genderist said...

Jane, I'd only shave your head if you let me first fashion you a fabulous mohawk...

U_P: If vomit were hair, I'd have it. Just imagine vomit on a head, and that's my haircut, sans the smell of bile.

But that's okay, because IT WILL GROW OUT. Like this is SCAR TISSUE. No-worrying policy is in effect.