I went and saw another Dr. for a follow up to my “are you fucking kidding me” appointment last week. Being as it is that I hate doctors, this trip to yet another “specialist” was more than I was mentally ready to deal with on a sunny weekday morning. After my inital Dr’s trip I was told that based on my symptoms I was looking at three options…
The first; it’s nothing. Some low level infection. Could even be a bi-product of the meds you’re taking for your stomach, actually.
The second; VD. What the fuck are you talking about? There are none of the symptoms of any VD I’ve ever heard of!! Is this like some jungles of South America VD!? God damnit this ain’t my day.
The Third; Cancer. That being the “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!” part of our program.
Of course, the deal you make with yourself when you get told this is that right off the bat, it’s not “nothing”. It can’t and won’t be “nothing”. This falls somewhere in between Hypochondria and Pessimism; wherein you tell yourself you can’t be lucky enough to have nothing wrong with you, so you’ve got to be sick.
Because of this I found myself in the very odd position of actually saying; “Please God let it be VD.” How many times in the history of man do you think someone has actually said those words? But there I was walking down K St towards my Dr’s office repeating over and over in my head;
Oh lord, please look down on me, your mostly well behaved though occasionally hedonistic son and deliver unto me a verdict of VD because Oh merciful God I simply do not think that I can fucking deal with Cancer. I ask this in the name of Penicillan, Cipro and Valvtrex, Amen.
So it was with great trepidation that I walked in to my new Dr’s office for the first time and relayed to him what my symptoms are and what, I was told, I was looking at for a diagnosis. His response, right off the bat, was less than comforting;
“Well, that’s accurate”.
Great. Fucking great.
“But let’s not rush to any conclusions before we get some tests done”.
For the better part of 45 minutes I was poked and prodded and drained of fluids to determine what was wrong with me…during which time I’m of course making my plans. My “plans” were made with my inside voice in the form of one liners. For example;
“First thing I do if it’s cancer is go get drunk.”
“If I’ve got VD of any kind, I’m totally hooking up with Alyssa and giving it to her”.
“Who the hell could I have caught VD from?! MUST find her and set her on fire.”
“Mental note to self; never smoke again regardless of the outcome.”
This went on and on, and I’m sure you get the idea. After the 45 minutes or so my Doc came in and said, “I’m going to have your tests run today, and I’ll be calling you to let you know how they came out. But I can tell you this right now…”
Oh heavenly God here it comes…
“Based on your exam, there’s no way this is cancer. So cross that off your list.”
PRAISE JESUS HALLELUJAH I’VE GOT VD!
“We’ll call you in a bit with the results of what we find from your tests…but really, I think you have a low level infection that, when combined with your pre-existing stomach conditions and meds gave you your symptoms.”
Which, I learned later in the day, was exactly what had happened. No VD. No cancer. Just a painful set of symptoms that came from a 1:1000 set of circumstances. When I got the call I was at work and was bracing myself for whatever was to come next. I was prepared for anything, except to hear “you’re fine, INPY.”
And to think I actually rooted for VD.