It is Good to be Radioactive Man...
For Some Value of Good
Apparently, I'm radioactive now and I should not travel to the USA. If I do, it will raise eyebrows among the worthies who guard the border.
"Hmmm... radioactive Canadian." they will think...
They already think we eat too much cheese.
"Hmmm... radioactive Cheesehead" they will label me, and most likely confiscate my various radioactive bits just in case it is my nefarious plan to go and hug their president...
I once stood outside the whitehose (Whitehouse I mean) for several minutes (thinking about how we'd burned it down in 1813 or so) and garnered some very stern looks from the nice park policemen. I like that they are called that. It's nice that the US president lives in a 'park' that sounds so green and environmental... but the point is that, these policemen had very stern looks indeed. Withering looks. Eloquent looks. The kind of looks that said, "I may not be in the secret service, but I would cheerfully take a hug for my president. I wouldn't hesitate, no sir".
Most blogs seem to be about US politics; it's ok for me to work some of that stuff in here isn't it?
Being made radioactive was in aid of something called a 'bone scan', apparently I misheard the name of the procedure at first, and it turned out to be a lot less fun than I had anticipated. English is such a tricky language sometimes. Biopsy and bone scan in one day, for some value of 'good'.
When I booked the biopsy appointment, the nice, cheerful lady told me that it would be "good". This sounded unlikely to my admittedly unschooled ears, so I asked her to verify: did she perhaps mean "tolerable" or "without excessive agony" ? She confirmed, "yes" she had had one herself and she did mean "good". As it turns out, her world is a sunny place with friendly, little marshmallow bunnies hopping about, where all the buildings are made of chocolate and, where ice cream and anti-depressants flow from drinking fountains and money is free and everyone is happy and words mean what you think they mean...
I think they don't just want to hack out my oncs... I think they want to get to know them first... maybe talk them out of whatever it is they are currently doing... rehabilitate them... "Excuse me Messers Onc, could you possibly move over into this nice petrie dish? It's in a very good neighbourhood".
The general description of 'biopsy' is, after being restricted to a diet of 'clear fluids' for some several hours, they stick a honkin' big needle in and grab a sample of the offending wossname. (We could call that the target and me the collateral damage, but I want to avoid giving the impression that there's anything unpleasant about this. I don't want to contradict the nice lady.)
Needle is one word for what they used, I suppose...
I got to watch the procedure on the Ultrasound monitor... It was like a scene from Wild Kingdom or Alien.
The sleek predator pushes its way through the unfeeling (unfeeling the first time) flesh and pauses, like a mantis for a few seconds. There's a desperate hush as the tension mounts. Everything is still. Then without warning, the slick predator lunges forward, into the very heart of the unsuspecting onc, which contracts with shock and dismay. Razor sharp claws thrust deep within and tear out a bleeding divot of the squishy mass. The Onc lies quiet, trembling slightly, unable to believe what has happened. Then the whole thing begins again...
This time, the Onc is suspicious and cries out in anguish, but no one can hear it's piteous screams, for they are drowned out by the unfeeling Ultrasound... And then it bit me. There we were, sharing a common foe, and it bit me. Well, something bit me. And I thought about the lady with her personal marshmallow-bunny-world, and lamented: I'd forgotten to get her name. It says 'fantasist' on my passport.
Now, I think it would be irresponsible for me to say that a biopsy is an agonisingly, painful experience that you should avoid by crashing your car through the railings on the Port Mann Bridge, or for which you should get seriously liquored up (vodka is a clear fluid after all)... so I'm not saying that. Biopsies are vital diagnostic procedures, and if your doctor says get one, you should say 'how high?' or just get one. In truth, only the second one hurt, and not for that long. (End public service message.)
Now some folks suggest I might be spending too much time talking about being a tad under the weather. Others say to keep it up, because it's hilarious. I see this point. There's nothing funnier than human suffering... yep... nothing, unless it's a good pun, and you can't make a whole blog out of even the best pun. Include them, yes... whole blogs, not so much. Anyway, none of these blogs (do I have to keeps saying 'blog'?) have elicited any public responses... only quantities of email (from people other than 'insert name here' promising to cure any/all diseases, presumably through the use of little blue pills). Please feel free to have your 2d worth in the various spaces provided.
In truth, I was going to talk about the monarchy... maybe next time?
