Pharyngula

My day began well enough. I’d gotten up early, got some writing done, and was headed into the office to do some prep work for classes, which start this week. My phone rang just as I had my key in the office door — which was cutting it close. My office is an AT&T dead zone, and a few more seconds and I would have been in blissful obliviousness for the rest of the day. It was my doctor’s assistant. I will paraphrase her words slightly.

“We just got the results of your tests from last week. Your heart is a shriveled black lump starved of charity, decency, charm, and kindness,” she said, “a gristly godless clot of marginally functional fibers. You need to go back to Abbott for more tests, and the doctors want to crack your chest and marvel at you.”

“So what else is new? My students are used to that and expect me to be lashing them with fear and pain starting Wednesday…and my black heart is an asset to this job,” I said. “Maybe I can pop in for these tests this weekend. Any chest-cracking can wait for the end of the term and Christmas break, when I wouldn’t be using my heart anyway.”

“No,” she said, “now.”

And I waffled and weaseled and tried to argue with her that this could not be, I had a great deal of work to do right now, and I couldn’t possibly just drop out at the start of the term, and besides, I felt fine. And I bickered, and she exasperatedly told me no way, and I bargained, and then she said, “Here. I’m putting the doctor on.” And the doctor spoke with the voice of Doom and the terrifying tone of I-hold-your-life-in-my-hands-you-dope and she quoth (paraphrased somewhat): 

“YOU ARE GOING TO DIE SUDDENLY, ABRUPTLY, WITHOUT WARNING UNLESS WE FIX YOU RIGHT NOW. GO. NOW. DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME.”

“Yes’m,” I said.

And so I now find myself on the road to Minneapolis under the care of the TrophyWife™, who will have to be renamed AmbulanceDriver™ or perhaps MistressOfMercy™, for an appointment with knives and pain. This was not the day I woke up for. This was not my plan for the Fall of 2010, but then, reality does have a way of dicking up our comfortable expectations.

There may be an interruption in the blogging for a wee bit.

If I’m supposed to be traveling your way in the next month or so, there will probably be a change of plans. I’ll be in touch with people next week when I know more about my course of suffering for the next little while.

Meanwhile, relax, chill, don’t panic, and most importantly, don’t waste your time with prayers. Ever.

I’ll be back while convalescing, and will be even more heartfully cranky than ever.