Don't give any money to breast cancer causes. I know, I'm pissing off everyone who's had relatives with that monster. But hear me out.
You get out of the elevator on the seventh floor of the NYU Cancer Center building and it resembles one of those Mexican buses. Ya know, it's jam packed, people are elbow to elbow, hanging out of the windows and even sitting on the roof. And somone usually has a chicken. When the nurse finally calls your name, three hours after you checked in and after some very sick person coughs all over you, the nurse repeats your name three or four times while you crawl over the bodies.
In the meantime, two floors up, people exit the elevator and are soon greeted by the calm, soothing voice of the receptionist who asks you to have a seat and oh, there are drinks for you free of charge. After a trip to the kitchenette, people prance across the carpetted floor as classical music plays and then land in a soft, comfortable chair. A couple minutes later, a nurse comes out to see you and apologizes for the long wait.
You get what I mean? Breast Cancer is the cool kid. Hodgkin's is the fat kid who never washes his hair. So please, if you're gonna run in some half marathon for a cause, run for the fat kid.
The last post, boy was it depressing. Well, I have some better news. In fact, I think it's great news. The big lump in my boob is not cancerous. It's just a big lump in my boob. The medical peeps say it's probably a reaction to the heavy meds they've been shooting into me. But that conclusion took awhile to figure out.
First I had a mammogram. Ladies, I think you will agree that it's not the most comfortable process. The last time I was asked to get into so many positions, I was single.
A couple minutes later, a radiologist came out and asked me to come into her office. My friend Todd is an excellent poker player. He rarely loses money and that's when he's in Vegas. One night while at the best casino on the strip (O'Shea's), he taught me the ins and outs of playing the game. Since then, I've even learned to catch a tell every now and then. A tell is when someone does something that tells you what kind of hand he or she has. It could be all kinds of things. A tell from a doctor is when they pull up a chair next to you. Then you're in for serious shit. But this time, the doctor didn't pull up that chair. She sat in her own and told me that she believes the lump isn't cancerous but only a biopsy will tell.
About a half hour later another doctor was performing a needle biopsy on me. Because my lump was right under my nipple. She took her very long needle and stuck it directly into said nipple. Then she poked back and forth. She did this for about a minute and quite nicely apologized the whole time. Then she did it again. After looking at my cells and not finding any cancer, she did a third time to be sure. Again, she found nothing. As I mentioned in my previous post, very pathetically, I was in need of a break. I got it. Yeah baby. It was probably the wallet.