Three weeks ago, I mentioned that I had to undergo a particularly brutish routine medical procedure.
On a scale of one to ten, one being the annual checkup at your doctor with the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff and scale, ten being a cystoscope for an inflamed prostate (in which we learn the Indian fakir secrets of levitation), this particular procedure rates about an eight, maybe an eight-and-a-half.
Mostly for the prep.
I've been sitting on pins and needles these past weeks, literally. Two adenomae were discovered, one of which was big enough that the doctor felt it necessary to do a double biopsy, to get a second opinion right away.
It came back benign.
Given the patterns of my life, I'm skating a thin edge. I've come close to having serious cancers before, only to skate away relatively unscathed. I mean, really, a deformed nose is something to sneeze at compared to what might have been.
But given the fractal nature of reality, I know there's some event lurking in the future that will not be so easy to deal with. There's not much I can do to prevent it, apart from being as scrupulous in my lifestyle choices as I can, and that's no guarantee.
Anyway, I can breathe this week. Just wanted to let you know.