Whatever medical tests you're supposed to get that you've been putting off until after the zombies come ... please just go get this taken care of now. Now, I said. You'll be happy you did.
My oncologist cut me off a couple of years ago. I've outlived his usefulness, I guess. The only thing I really need at this point is an annual blood test called a CA-125. The onc said my family practice guy could do that, and if something came back hinky, he could take it from there.
I am not a doctor, but I play one on the internet, so I explained the deal about lab tests to him. I said my family practice dude uses a different lab, and I will get a slightly different result. The onc said that's true, you'll just have a new baseline. I said that will freak me out. He said it's not a problem. I said that will freak me out. He said just do it, so I didn't. Fuck him.
So, uh, two years go by or is it three? I haven't had a CA-125, and it's really the principal tool for detecting a recurrence of ovarian cancer. Well, that and symptoms. I had no real symptoms to speak of, but ovarian cancer is a sneaky bastard. The simplist things like being a bit, well, farty, can be a symptom.
What can I say, it was a farty party this spring. I now think it was the glucosamine I was taking for my knee issues and possibly the cucumber in my juicer drinks. It's not easy being me. I knew it was time for me to bite the bullet and get the blood test. I almost went back to the onc and begged just so he would send it to the same lab, but I told myself to man up and do this thing.
I went last week and told the family practice dude what was up. I said, look, my lucky number has been six for years now. I know it could go up a little with the new lab. Anything more than a few points of deviation will freak me out. If it comes back abbie normal, I don't want some stranger nurse calling me on the phone and cheerfully announcing that my new lucky number is 3,465.
The doc said, "I will call you if something is hinky."
The nurse called. She called the house first, and my husband freaked out. It was almost like, "The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming!" He was scared for me. He called me on my cell, then she called me on my cell and said everything was normal. I said what's normal? She said 10. Ten is normal. Ten is good.
I called my husband back. I said hey, guess what? I get to live another year!
He said don't screw around with this anymore, OK?
