Did You Notice This Prominence?

I finally went to the doctor to get my wrist cancer looked at. It was 8:45 in the morning and I hadn’t had coffee yet, so the whole experience felt muddy and distant like I was on a powerful drug such as “downers.” The doctor lady asked me about my problem, and I narrated for her the history of my wrist(ory). I showed her my weird, ever-growing bump. I demonstrated all the positions that are painful for it. She sent me downstairs for x-rays. Again, the lack of coffee made me feel like I was in Twin Peaks. A cold, silent, unpopulated room, and a weirdly sullen tech who looked about 18, dressed real sexy, and who clumped sullenly around and barely speaking to me (limply tossing a lead blanket on my lap with no further instructions, etc.). I laid my poor wrist in a variety of positions and felt it bombarded with toxic radiation. I went back upstairs and waited for an hour to hear the diagnosis.

Now, all of this is very strange, because I KNEW what was wrong with my wrist. It is a ganglion cyst. Genevieve had one, and she diagnosed it. Then Fiona diagnosed it over the phone. Then the internet corroborated this diagnosis (once i got past all the information telling me I have AIDS—I think we should all stop self-diagnosing on the internet. If I want someone telling me I have AIDS all the time I’ll go to a human doctor.). So I knew what it was. But here is an example of the way that not-having coffee can cause dangerous situations. I just kept going along with whatever the doctor did. I felt like I was dreaming. At once point I fell asleep on the examining table while I was waiting.

When she came back in, she was with an older doctor. At this point I realized she was a student, not yet a doctor, and I felt intense love and compassion for her because of Fiona. I started projecting a lot of Fiona’s stories and anecdotes onto her, like the time Fiona couldn’t find that woman’s cervix and was so embarrassed. The older doctor said he thought I had tendonitis. In my head, I said, “it’s not tendonitis,” but in reality I just said, “oh.” He talked for awhile about icing it when it hurts, etc. Then he said, “it’s been going on for 2 years?” and I said, “yes, but I finally decided to come in when I noticed this–” and I showed him my bump.

He took my hand, poked the bump, then turned to the student with this certain look on his face. And then he said: “Did you notice this prominence?”

Doctors are SO FUNNY. The student was chagrined, and I felt something very subtle but very intense pass in the room between them. It felt kind of like when you know that your parents are fighting. If I hadn’t heard so many of Fiona’s stories I might not have even noticed it. But I have heard her stories, and so I knew: the student had fucked up.

“Well, this changes the diagnosis,” he said briskly. “I think this is a ganglion cyst.” When he said that, I remembered that I had intended to say that all along, and so I snapped my fingers and pointed at him like Fonzy. He regarded me expressionlessly for a second, then continued: “You know, in the olden days they used to fix them by slamming heavy books on them–” (I made the snapping gesture again and said “BIBLE BUMPS!”) “–but we don’t recommend that treatment because of the risk of secondary injury.”

I was the only one laughing, and I was laughing really hard. Maybe they thought I was drunk.

Anyway, the point of the story is that I probably have to get hand surgery. I am really not looking forward to that, especially since it’s my right hand, but I’m also not looking forward to a lifetime of ganglion cysts making it hard to do Downward Dog.

I better get this taken care of before the apocalypse.

Nothing else has happened to me since the last time I said anything here.