I have a lot of back story to cover, this blog is going in that direction. My past, present and future; or what is left of it. Regarding the last of those three things, I am going to write about it her in great detail – next Wednesday morning. To heighten the suspense, it will either be really bad news or not as bad as it could be news.
Maybe suspense is the wrong word, nobody reads this blog, but I will be directing a bit of traffic here if anybody has a, “Well, why don’t//did/didn’t you…” infinite regression (which can be tiring as fuck) set of questions.
My last blog post mentioned tests I was having “in four days”, that was 3 days ago. I checked out what was involved with the test, basically it uses a form of palpitation to generate pressure, the machine then calculates the flexibility of the liver. They came up with this recently in France, it is less invasive than biopsy and can sample more areas. Then it spits out a number, from “Okay” to “You’re Probably Going To Die Soon” is 1 – 14 kPa. The numbers go lower than 1 and higher than 14 but 14 is the, “Sorry, You’re Fucked” threshold. I caught a peek at the screen before the technician shut it off, it was 13.4 kPa.
So, Yesterday when I had my SIL’s iPhone, I called the Gastroenterologist’s office because I wanted an appointment ASAP, I gave my name and explained that I had completed all the tests he wanted prior to our first appointment and should have the results of the Fibroscan by Tuesday. She said the earliest opening was in November or December. I was speechless for a moment, she then said, “If he needs to see you earlier, we will call you.” The called this morning, it’s Friday, Monday is Labour Day, I see him first thing in the morning on Wednesday.
So, I think it’s bad news, or bad news but we might be able to do something if we start treatment now. I’m hoping for the latter, I’m also not going to get my hopes up too much.
So this blog’s main purpose is going to be either my journey through terminal illness, …like poor Gord has to go through, …in private probably. Or, I can document my escape from the infinitely sharp scythe of the grim reaper. That was probably overly dramatic, but here we are.
I haven’t cried yet, I haven’t started a grieving process, the only people I’ve told have been my pharmacists, and two particularly empathetic Facebook friends I’ve never met.
And of course, you Dear Reader, but then… right now, nobody reads my blog.
Okay, so for now, for me… I’m Schrödinger’s Guitar player until Wednesday, …hey, that’s kind of catchy; Schrödinger’s Guitar Player.
Thank you for indulging me, Dear Reader.