the official diagnosis...

i don't know if you recall that some months back my doctor was obsessed with the size of my neck...i told her it was due to weight gain but she wasn't convinced...

she ran tests related to thyroid, etc. and came up with nothing...

so i had to go in for a check up a month ago and she still wasn't convinced it was nothing...so she gave me a referral for an ultrasound that among other things in the comments section read "suspected neck goiter"

goiter.

really, it should be the word of the week based on its disgustingness as an actual word alone...

okay, can i tell you i am not a large woman...as much as i joke, and i have every right to because it's better than weeping into my wine, i am the average height and weight of women in this country...i swear...i looked it up...

which leads me to believe that america is just WAY TOO FAT!

anyhow, so i am not overly large per se, and have always been, until childbearing, a rather slim and shapely lass...i swear...i looked it up...so naturally, even in the face of evidence to the contrary, i still mostly feel like that slim gal inside...

until i have to call to set up the appointment for the ultrasound and the woman on the phone says what is the reason and i have to say

"suspected neck goiter"

can i tell you?...really?

so then she says, oh for thyroid?, and i say yeah and my appointment was yesterday...and i went...

so they do an ultrasound on my neck and the radiologist asks if *i* suspect i have a thyroid problem and i say

"no, i mentioned to my doctor that i thought it had to do with weight gain"

"so you don't feel you have a problem with your hormones at all?"

um, what?...hell yeah i have a problem with my hormones!...i'm a stay at home mother born in the sign of cancer!...i wake up feeling like i've been run over by a truck, cry at parades and commercials and npr, mediate frivolous arguments of energetic boybarians savvier than me, and try not to drink a bottle of wine before six p.m...yeah, i'd say i have some hormonal *issues*...

but what i really said was

"no, not really"

because what's he really gonna do about it?...hold my hand and tell me this too, shall pass?...that the days are long but the years are short?...that i am doing a great service to this country by trying to raise and educate good people?...that it's hard now but i'll miss it when they're older?...he's just there to read results and pass them along...

so he reads the ultrasound gives me the official diagnosis...

"yep, it's just chub"

chub.

"chub? is that the "official" diagnosis?"

then he chuckles...fucker...

"yep, it appears you thyroid is fine and the bulge (this just gets better and better doesn't it?) is due to weight gain"

then he leaves the room...

now see, again, this is why i don't leave the house...because i am a freak magnet...people say things to me that they wouldn't dare say to others...i guess i have that kind of face that inspires people to be rude or just say the first thing that comes into their head...

it could be much worse...it could always be much worse, i suppose...

good lord, that's not very comforting is it?

in other news the boys love piano and look forward to the lessons each week...now if we can only get a piano...

and no word on the beginning of baseball, but the boys are excited and i am excited for them...though i am actually looking forward to it about as much as i would a neck ultrasound...

and now i must be off...it's time for writing and grammar and if i don't supervise the duke gets ideas...the things he comes up with are suspect at best...

for instance yesterday he was to write an example of how one would combine two sentences that had different subjects and the same predicates...he was to make up and write the individual sentences then combine them properly...he wrote

Jerry ran from Mr. Grups.

Kate ran from Mr. Grups.

Jerry and Kate ran from Mr. Grups.

then he drew a picture of these two scared kids and a mean old man chasing them with an extra sharp rake...

"that's the mean old neighbor...he doesn't like kids...and see his address on his mailbox?...that's an unlucky number...look how fast those kids are running"

i don't know when, and i don't know where, and i don't know for what, but i know that somehow i will be blamed for something when he's older...

x.