I have already blown my stack once this morning, and I would rather not do it again.
Got a call from the doctor’s office. I had that scan on Monday, and at that time I was told everything was okay with my internal organs. The technician did add, “You have a cyst or two, but that’s nothing–everybody gets them, as they age.”
So I get this mysterious call from the doctor, saying I’d better come in ASAP to consult about my scan. Now I can’t just throw several hours every week into a doctor’s waiting room, but I was compelled to wonder, “What the hell is this? What’s wrong with me now? What was there in the scan that the tech didn’t tell me about?”
Well, the doctor wants to talk about the cysts. I made the office manager tell me there was nothing in the scan report that hinted at cancer or some other disaster. But first I had to hit the ceiling before he would enlighten me.
Now, I believe the technician because she does this work all day, five days a week, and surely has seen more internal cysts than anyone who does not do what she does. She saw mine and said they were nothing.
Doctors have this habit of cloaking the most mundane information in mystery, which seems like to me a super-good way to alarm the patient and get him imagining all sorts of dire tidings. Even a dentist doesn’t know how to scare you half so badly as a doctor with his cryptic messages.
So I said I could not possibly make an extra trip to his office, and whatever he wants to say about my cysts can wait until my regularly scheduled appointment next week.
And now I have to go to the nursing home to see about Aunt Joan and discuss her care–so enough is enough.