Ohmigawd. It's official, this entire week bit my ass. Hard. Well, except for the two month thing, that was cool.

This whole being tested by the universe for a whole year has got to fucking stop. Really. I'm at wits end. I can barely make it through a day without wanting to crawl under my Weasel Central issued desk and cry myself to sleep. And that's a lot, cause I don't think the cleaners have really done their job around here in a long time. Dude, there's a six month old Cheerio under my desk.

The gal has been absolutely amazing to me through the week of hell. Though today she's feeling hormonal and rather rough. So I've been trying to be her own little cheerleader (minus the skimpy outfit, I'm afraid). Lotsa hugs and stuff, y'know.

Yesterday I went to the specialist with the gal (yes, she's that amazing). Yesterday I had a freak out in the car. And in the office. And on the drive home. And well, you get the picture. Kids, I'm not liking the way things are looking. Don't worry, I'll be okily dokily at the end of it all, I'm just overwhelmed by all the information I got yesterday. It's never a good thing when the specialist says she's a wee bit concerned with existing test results. Looks like my role as human pin cushion is far from over. I've got a biopsy scheduled for the new year, along with another ultrasound, and of course, oodles of bloodwork. Yay!

So here's the Coles notes version (if I know you very well (you know who you are) you'll get the whole story in person or over the phone or by email if you so desire) of what's doing: the lump in my throat is gettin' bigger. No one's happy with that kind of progress.
Thank you.

Right. I'm off to sit and stare blankly at my screen and wonder why I bothered coming into work again.

Remember kids, give your loved ones lotsa hugs and kissies. And not just cause you want them to buy you a PlayStation 2 (though it wouldn't hurt).