I opened this door a long time ago. I widened it last week. I have no expectations that I can slam it shut now. In fact, I have no intention of doing it. I feel obligated to give a follow up, give full disclosure.
I spent hours today with doctors and pharmacists. I spoke with at least three of each before my day was done. While I cooked breakfast, waiting for it to be time for an appointment with my primary care doc, I got a phone call from the dermatologist. She had the results of the biopsy from the spot on my nose. She said that she sort of expected to hear what she did, that it showed a basal cell carcinoma. In her endlessly chipper and reassuring way, she told me that of all possible cancers, I won the lottery. This is the easiest one to eradicate. I was warned by a friend to expect a Mohs surgery, where they shave out tiny little pieces and examine them under a microscope to make sure they have removed all of the cancer before they stitch up the spot. I knew this was a strong possibility, and in a final gasp of vanity, I took a last glamorous selfie before the side of my nose was scarred, potentially deformed. (I posted it after the fundraiser party Friday night.) I told myself that because of where the carcinoma was, if the scarring was too bad, I would just pierce that spot, and get a nose ring. Maybe a nice purple enamel butterfly would go there.
I wore my feet out weeks ago stomping around on the Mr's mountain. So two weeks ago, I went to town on them (and all my muscles from the elbows and knees down) with a spiky massage ball. I got too rough on the left foot, where there is a heel spur, and I irritated the connective tissue there. The podiatrist I saw couldn't give a monkey's toss about it when I told her the next day, and so today I went in to whine at my primary care doc for the same thing. I had so many things to go over while I was there, it took me an hour and a half at her office. I needed referrals renewed, and I needed to tell her about the skin cancer and the encouraging diagnosis of atypical (silent) migraine from the neurologist. She and the med student intern she had in training looked over my chart, and decided I was overdue for blood tests for her. She wanted to run a golden flow type screening on me first, and they asked me to wait while they checked for infection. What should have taken several minutes was immediately positive, and they set about looking for antibiotics that I'm not allergic to. The poor intern, who had never met a complex patient like me before, asked me didn't I notice the infection? I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Dude. When you have lupus, you kind of triage the things you complain about." I have been feeling so run down, sore (in the right kidney), and feverish for so long, I just assumed it was all part of the disease, and I must be leading into a flare.
That said, I'm going to take an early night. I've been lying on my bed since I got home from a Rotary party at 7, and it's time to see what Dr Who episode is next in my DVR queue, while I play the slot machine game on my iPad. I'll leave you with the two little weasels who wanted to go face down in the bowl of eggs that were waiting to become an omelette, once the yellow peppers finished cooking. So earnest, so hopeful. So deluded.
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