'Cause you guys said I could be emo. Biopsy #2 is done now, and I am home, recovering and drifting around in my head. They gave me a percocet after, so I'm a little spacey. I'd like to say I acquitted myself well during the procedure, but that would be a lie. And one does not lie to one's blog. This hurt. This hurt a lot, and it continues to hurt, good drugs or no. I didn't move the whole time, but I cried like a sissy when the good doctor man stuck the big needle in me. I couldn't help it, 'cause well, I hurt. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain (i've got tattoos and piercings, i can handle pain) but this was extraordinary. Why this never occurred to me, I don't know, but there are definitely enough nerve endings on your internal organs that you can feel it when they're being poked at. And the sensation of the needle piercing the lining around my lung was a) gross b) weird and c) awful. Thankfully, no lung collapse today. But my goodness, I hurt. And I couldn't flinch or anything, so I just laid there and cried because I was tired (i think i managed about an hour and half of sleep last night, cumlative) and scared and lonely and hurt and for the life of me, I couldn't keep myself together. So yeah, that sucked. The medical staff were all really kind and helpful, one particular nurse held my hand and told me it would be over soon, and I was too busy gritting my teeth to thank her. And thinking mean things about my doctor man. There was some of that, too.
Anyway, I'm home now and that whole awful mess is behind me and it wasn't even as terrible as it could have been. Depending on how things go, I could have the biopsy results in a few days, or the pathologists might be stumped and have to send the samples out to some exotic research centers for more diagnosing. I know one thing for sure, though. If this biopsy doesn't tell us what this is, one way or another the mass is coming out. I am not sitting through another biopsy, and no force on Earth will compell me to. In fact, the next person to suggest they might like to poke around my lungal region with anything sharp will probably get beaten. Or stabbed. I have nice, pointy knitting needles.
I'm just feeling battered and sorry for myself, which I expect will pass when I get some sleep. Jim has taken the bestest care of me since we woke up this morning, he even bought me chocolate. Isn't he a sweetheart? I mentioned doing the dishes and he told me that my only job today was to take a nap, he'd handle the cleaning. And judging by the way everything feels all swimmy now, it's probably time to go do my job.