...I had half a post written the other night before I realized it was entirely too emo. Like totally way too emo. So that one got scrapped, and I decided it might be best to avoid blogging late at night when I'm tired and scared and have taken lots of cold medications.
I haven't updated you guys on the health front in a couple of days because there's not much to say, really. My next biopsy is this Wednesday, and I have to be awake for it. I met with my interventional radiologist (isn't that the coolest title ever? it sounds like he's the guy you talk to if you get hooked on x-rays) and he explained how this one would work. Apparently, he sticks me with a (relatively, he swears it's not real huge) needle in the chestal region and then puts a smaller needle in that one to take various bits of the alien lung baby away. I have to be awake for this, even though they can only numb the skin (there will be a "pinching" sensation when he punctures the lung linings. pinching. right. i've heard that one before.) because sedatives interfere with your breathing and there's a chance my lung might collapse.
How cool is that? Now, I could just have a smallish bit of a lung collapse (the chances are somewhere around one in four, roughly), in which case they basically just keep an eye on me. I could have a mediumish lung collaps, where I get a nifty drinking straw and mechanical device put in my chest for a couple of days. Or, and this one is pretty cool, I could have a rather largeish dramaticish lung collapse where I get a garden hose put in my chest (i swear, he called it a garden hose. i like this guy) and a week at the hospital. The odds of that are pretty small, but they exist. I'm trying to ignore the possibility of lung collapse entirely, since I am rather younger and healthier than the nice doctor man's average patient. But there's a little part of me that keeps thinking, why would this part be any easier than the rest of it? Thankfully, this should be the last biopsy they need. If they still can't tell me what the alien baby is, we resort to the angry scared Emily who tells the nice doctor to take the alien baby out and decide what it is later because she is tired of being poked and prodded and stuck and examined. She is also having some chest pain, and is finding that walking up the stairs leaves her panting like she's just old or something and she finds that unacceptable.
But some good has come from this ordeal. My darling Momolla has bowed to popular pressure, and is making me a sweater. I'd like to thank you all for supporting my decision to embrace my dad's DNA and use an unpleasant situation to extort presents from my family. I do believe that if it were just me begging for a sweater, I might still be cold and unloved. But thanks to all of you choosing to back my play for knitted love, there might even now be something pretty and blue and warm for me on Momolla's clever needles. And speaking of knitting love, Galad's lovely daughter Nicole sent me some get well soon yarn, which absolutely made my day. She also sent me a lovely letter telling me how many people are pulling for me and telling me not to "let the bastards grind me down." I think Nicole and I would get along great!
Really, if I make it through the next few weeks with my sanity intact, it will be because of my amazing support group. Your concern and your support have been a huge comfort to me. All your warmth and kindness and humor, as always, give me strength and hope. It's a great feeling to know that whatever happens, there are people out there who are rooting for me. I'm knitting on, and maybe by the time this is all over and done with, I'll have something to show for it. And maybe soon, I'll have a reason to update my blog with something other than gloomy medical news. I hope this new week is warm and enjoyable and productive for you all.