here.
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So, I saw the gastroenterologist today (and may I digress for a moment to say, those fuckers! They told me my appointment was at 8:30, so I show up 10 minutes early (to fill out the paperwork), and she tells me my appointment is actually at 9! Bastards! Luckily I had a book with me). I was less concerned about the idea that I’d find out something horrible, and more worried that he’d take one look at me, think “Oh, yeah. She’s fat. I’ll tell her to try diet and exercise!” and I was ready to rip off his head and shit down his throat – just ask Fred – but I worried for nothing. He was AWESOME. You know how sometimes a doctor will ask you questions and you answer them, but you get the feeling they’re not really paying attention, maybe thinking about their 2:00 tee time? Not this guy. He asked questions, he really listened to the answers, and he was just really a nice guy.
(Come to find out he’s 5 days older than me. Ahhh, that explains it. Capricorns rock!)
Anyway, he said that it could be something called
autoimmune hepatitis and explained what it is. He doesn’t think it’s a strong possibility, since I haven’t had any of the symptoms, but he wanted to do bloodwork to rule out the possibility. He wanted to check a few other things but seemed to lean – not surprisingly – toward the idea that it was a fatty liver.
Which is a benign condition, he told me, though it rarely turns into other things. Also, diet and exercise –
“Stop right there!” I said. “Before you go any further!” And I got up and started dancing a jig as I sang more of the Meatloaf song, the lyrics of which escape me at this moment.
“I’ve exercised 45 out of the last 46 days,” I said. “And I count calories. I’ve eaten between 1200 and 1500 calories a day for the last 46 days. Except for Friday, when I relax it a little. Also, I lost 125 pounds three years ago and have been at a standstill ever since.”
He was impressed and what did he tell me? Why, he said “Keep up the good work!”
BECAUSE I ROCK.
Anyway. So they took three gallons of blood upon which they’re going to perform various and sundry tests. When he gets the results, he’s going to call me, and we’ll see where we’ll go from there.
Oh! And YOU PEOPLE who keep bringing up LIVER BIOPSIES and scaring the SHIT out of me! (Because that sound PAINFUL!) He said that if all the tests came back negative, what he’d want to do is monitor my liver enzymes and if they get worse, THEN he’d want to do a liver biopsy.
I think I lurve him. In a purely platonic doctor-patient way, of course. Though he did touch my knee when he was all excited about explaining exactly what the fatty liver thing is.
Anyway, I’ll keep y’all apprised of what-all’s going on with me and my
shadow liver’s fat ass.
* * *
Anyway. There were several amazingly brilliant and laugh-out-loud paragraphs right here, but in my haste to run to the bathroom and pee, I fucked something up and they disappeared into the ether, and I want to go to Sam’s now, so I’ll have to do my best to re-create them tomorrow. Sorry ’bout that.
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An illustration of why Fred calls Miz Poo “Snaggletooth.”
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