So I sat down with the pancreas doctor. He began by asking, "So, what brings you here?"
"I thought you had seen my CT scan."
"Well, I did, but I want you to tell me."
See, that's not a good start. What does he think I'm going to say? Something that breaks the case wide open? "Hey, could this have something to do with that day I spent camping at the Nevada nuclear test site?"
Still, I humored him and spelled out everything he already knew. And he responded by asking me questions I HAVE ANSWERED TWO HUNDRED TIMES IN THE LAST MONTH.
I did get some information out of him. I answered (for the two hundredth time) how often I drank, and the doctor wrote down (FOR THE TWO HUNDREDTH TIME) "rarely."
"Okay," I asked, "How much do I have to drink to crank it up past 'rarely'?"
According to him, drinking routinely once a month rates you an "occasionally." Something to strive for.
So, hopefully Friday I'll be at the lab getting a tube snaked down to my belly. The tube will give me an ultrasound from the inside of my belly (ugh - inner-belly ultrasound gel) and then push out a robotic needle into the cyst and suck out the insides for analysis. "Don't worry, though," the doctor said, "you'll be given a sedati--"
"No Versed. No."
Long pause. "Well, you'll have to take that up with the doctor who performs the procedure."
Laugh with me the hollow laugh of doooom. This means, of course, I'll be taking Versed again. Will it be as bad as the last time? I have an entire bathroom I even haven't painted since it was built, much less decorated.
Then again, I'm bolstered with six years of Celexa this time. Perhaps I'll get that peek into my true self and not see an empty fraud this time. Perhaps the hospital staff can catch the pigs flying out of my ass this time.