all about the morbidity, baby.

I cannot recall if I ever told y'all about my discussion with the otolaryngologist -- the head and neck dude, for you layfolks. He performed a total head and neck assessment (because what else am I paying him a copay for?). Did I mention that he is a certified plastic surgeon? Foreshadowing alert.

Yeah, so he talks to me for a solid ten, fifteen minutes about the condition of my face. Conversation exaggerated for lack of documentation of exact wording, bear in mind.

Oh, you have breakouts. you should definitely see a dermatologist, or mayhaps our medical aesthetist. your face! your face! you're gonna come to me thirty years from now, looking to undo this damage, and I won't be able to do anything about it. [like his prehistoric ass would still be practicing medicine thirty years from now] Did you recently get engaged? Because some girls just kinda give up on their appearances once that happens...

blah blah blah.

so finally, I said, "I have approximately zero interest in systemic antibiotics for a vain issue. I have even less interest in the risk of developing C. diff as a result of vanity. I resent the fact that you even asked if I gave up on my appearance because I met a man. Not only is this sexist but absurd, and I think you owe me an apology."

He back-pedals, saying, "No, no. Don't think of this as a vanity issue. It's like brushing your teeth, washing your hair. These aren't vain measures. These are basic hygiene measures. Think of it this way, and maybe you'll change your mind about a dermatologist. And I don't think antibiotics are for you. In the meantime, I'm sorry. I should not have assumed that you need a man to make you happy or comfortable. maybe you're gay."

... yes. maybe.

so then, he is dictating to his recorder about my assessment. I corrected him when he said my birth year was '87. He glared at me, rewound the recorder a moment, and said my birth year. "Sorry for being born in 1989," I grumbled.

Then he dictates, "Nodule found on the right thyroid, upload prescription for ultrasound, and schedule follow up appointment."

I... what?! Thyroid nodule? When were you going to tell me about that, BRO? He stops the recorder, again annoyed, and says, "It's probably nothing. Probably as clinically significant as that growth you had me remove. But it's still worth watching. May I?"

Oh, yeah. treat me like I'm the a-hole here. so I called the number provided to set up an ultrasound for this Tuesday afternoon after clinical. UHM. I kinda forgot about it for a while. but now that the day approaches, I'm a little nervous. Not like, actively so, but when I think about it, I'm all like, I KNEW IT. see: I dream of thyroid issues. It's a little disjointed. But enjoyable. Promise.

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Now for a little levity. Here is the best thing I have ever heard to describe Taylor Swift fandom.

At breakfast this morning, there were three girls sitting on a bench to my right, talking about [what else] boys. One of them complained of a boy who went with her to a Taylor Swift concert when she was "in the seventh grade." since that time, he has given her numerous gifts referring to this time together. "Sure, it's super sweet. But, like, I'm sixteen years old. I don't listen to that shit any more."

aaaaaand good night. (: