You may recall that I recently had a colonoscopy, and I wrote ad nauseam about that procedure. You are probably also considering that I may have an obsession with all things involving the butt... I do not. What I do have are recurring medical issues, which consume a large portion of my life, and I get to share all of these maladies with you. It's so riveting!
I recently got the results of the biopsy my good doctor took during the procedure. I wasn't expecting anything to come up on the results, but then I got "the call." Furthermore, I don't know how many of you have ever gotten a phone call about less-than-desirable results, but they usually follow a standard framework that's employed by every unfortunate medical assistant who has to deliver bad news. It sounds a lot like this:
"Hello?" "Hi! Is this [insert your name here]?" "This is he." "Hi (they always get me with the double 'hi'), this is [random MA] from [random doctor's] office. How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you?" (I always answer this as an interrogative because they rarely ask this question unless something is wrong.) "Good, good. I'm calling to let you know that we got your biopsy results [or any negative results] back, and [random doctor] would like you to come into the office."
This is where they absolutely don't tell you why; they would prefer to leave you guessing as to why the doctor—who you just saw, and who said he would see you again in five years—wants you to come into his office.
I like to get straight to the point, so I just flat-out ask, "So, was there something on the biopsy I should be concerned about?"
"Weellll, it says here that your results show that you have [random disease] and that's why he would like you to come in."
I get bad news all the time when it comes to my health, so nothing really shocks me or upsets me anymore. This usually provides great relief to the caller when I, in my cheeriest voice, say, "Sounds great, thank you so much!" Then we proceed with scheduling, or whatever objective they're trying to achieve. I get it. You never want to be the one to give someone bad news, so I try to make the landing as easy as possible for these folks.
Now that you have a mental visualization of how the call went, the random disease in this case was a diagnosis of lymphocytic colitis. Awesome!
Lymphocytic colitis is a microscopic colitis, meaning that you can't see it during a regular colonoscopy; it has to be diagnosed from a biopsy under a microscope. This disease also has no cure but is highly manageable, and as far as chronic conditions go, it's not that bad. The hallmarks are watery diarrhea and abdominal pain, both of which I've had for years without any major impact on my life. Not too bad; I'll take some meds, get it under control, and move on.
Unfortunately, it's not that easy because, as I've stated, I have other issues. The gold standard of treatment is corticosteroids... which I'm allergic to. I also have osteoporosis, and apparently, steroids only enhance the brittleness of your bones. Not to mention these supposedly weaken the immune system, and I already have a severely weakened immune system. I know, I suck. I sent a message to the doc about how we should proceed, but I'm still waiting on a reply... 3 days later. You can review my thoughts on this phenomenon here.
So, this got me pondering the other night. Like that famous statue, The Thinker, except in my case, I have my phone in one hand and my fist under my chin while sitting on my newly installed bidet toilet because I have colitis. How many people out there are like me? So I turned to Gemini—someone has to keep all of these newly minted data centers in business.
Haha! That's right, I'm 1 in a quadrillion! I don't even have context for that number, but I know it's big. My momma always told me I was special, and now I have proof. Maybe just not the "special" I would've liked, but I'll take what I can get. I showed my wife this, and she wholeheartedly agreed that I was definitely "special" and affirmed that I am 1 in a quadrillion. I like validation sometimes. I continued to read, and the reality of it set in.
WTF? Did Gemini just inadvertently justify a previous entry, My Medical Chart Makes Me Think I'm a 70-Year-Old Woman? You bet it did. Once again, sweet, sweet validation. I think the best part about all of this is I now know for certain that I am indeed special. There's nothing like finding out you're one-of-a-kind, even though people have been telling me how special I am throughout my life.
In all seriousness, don't sweat bad news; most of the time, there isn't much you can do to change it. At least that's been the theme in my case. Just continue to be a honey badger: it doesn't give a shit.
Dad out.