I should’ve taken advantage of my doctor’s note and skipped out of work for the rest of the week. I feel maybe still drunk from Saturday or a little hungover and definitely depressed to be here. I asked our agency to do something 6 months ago and they didn’t. One of our AC units is broken and our landlord won’t fix it. I need a letter amended quickly but it’s probably going to take two months. It makes me feel listless how little I actually accomplish at work.
Today is my official birthday. What I think my last few lessons of 32 taught me is that I don’t want to drink more than once a month because my hangovers become 2-3 day bouts of depression the older I get and lead to regrettable interactions. And that I get drunk after 3 drinks whether I have eaten or not so I shouldn’t have anymore than 3 drinks ever. If I can carry these lessons with me for the rest of my years, maybe I will find a respectable husband before my ovaries fade to dust.
I should’ve stayed home today. Instead, I find myself at work pretending to do work, but my mind is wholly consumed by thoughts of my little operation tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will go through my first surgery ever, a mere 30 minute procedure, to remove a little alien bone that is inhabiting the middle joint of my left pinky. It’s been there for a little over a year. The doctor last year said it was nothing remarkable or worrisome, but the doctor I followed up with last week when my joint felt uncomfortable and swollen would like to remove it and get it tested for cancer cells and whatnot just in case. And if it is cancerous, the best way to contain it is to amputate the finger, he said. Of course, it is cancerous, I’d have to do a whole cancer work-up, see an oncologist, see if it has spread, maybe chemo or radiology. There’s a very small chance of any of this happening, but he just wanted to prepare me, he said.
Now, I feel like my little extra bone is nothing, and I also know that doctors are notorious for scaring the fuck out of people, so I took everything lightly, but I can’t help but think about the “what if.”
The doctor also said that if it had to be amputated, that I shouldn’t worry because cosmetically most people don’t notice a missing pinky unless you bring it up. That was his attempt at making me feel better. I didn’t ask about cosmetics or cancer or any of this. All this information was volunteered and delivered almost under one breath with no pausing to check my face for signs of panic.
I guess firstly I hope that it isn’t cancerous. And secondly I hope that, if it is cancerous, that it is contained to that finger. Like, if I have to lose a finger, so be it. I’d get a prosthesis that was obviously prosthetic. Like maybe they can make it neon pink or just purely robotic. Or maybe I’d sport a wooden finger.
And that’s as far as I will go in thinking of my worst case scenarios. I use my left pinky a lot. It types the “a.” I need it.
I just stumbled upon a thing called BroBible…..bro, dude - you gotta check it out, man. It’s got stuff for brosters, bromance stories, how to make bromaccinos….BRO!!!!!!!
Broaholics! Brosexuals, all the “scribes” who write for BroBible seems totally Browesome!! They all like sports and the big lebowski! And CHICKS!!! Learn how to bang some honeys by visiting BroBible.com!!!!!!!!! ENTOURAGE!!!
Here’s a preview of their brotastic coverage: