so here we are again.
another waiting room.
this one is a strange too egg-yolky-yellow with teal (sigh – so not our shade) chairs and a not-subtle-selection-of-magazines (AARP – Sage for Brits, New Yorker and People en Espanol).
after the blood-letting yesterday, we’re seeing a specialist who will help us “manage our post-surgery-care”.
this is (almost) the last form we’ll ever fill out where we can put “NONE” next to the list of medications.
we are Deeply Irritated By This.
there’s nothing wrong with our thyroid (apart from Tobias the tumor strangling it and Tobias’ sisters giving us a nasty sore throat by pushing on our vocal chords, our trachea (sp?) and against our main artery) and yet it will have to be removed along with our parathyroid glands.
so: for the Rest Of Our Time On Earth we’re going to be on some fake shit that’ll replace our thyroid
and we don’t do fakes, people.