I just finished a mug of hot chocolate. Dan had to make it. I can carry some things on my rollator seat, but if the vessel doesn’t have a lid. Hell, even if it does, I can (ok, will) spill it and make a huge mess.

I’m extra tired today. I didn’t sleep at all last night, so around 9 a.m., when anxiety had my heart racing and my shoulders were tensed all the way up to my ears, I had a half a Xanax.

Xanax works, though it piles on the fatigue, which I already have buckets of. But if I go over 24 hours without sleep, I opt for the medical intervention. So I’m once again writing from bed with my cell phone nestled in an overhead articulating arm. I’m saving my energy for reaching the toilet in time. I won’t be able to do much else.

Yesterday was an oncologist appointment, and we discussed how it was good news the biopsy results came back negative, yet extremely frustrating to not know what’s going on. At one point doc said we might need to get someone smarter than him on the case.

He was both self-deprecating and honest about his limits. Doctors who acknowledge they aren’t all-knowing gods give me hope.

So at this point the plan is to harvest a lymph node for further pathology. Who knows, once one lump is shipped off, maybe the others will get scared and fall in line. All I can say with certainty is they are all really pissed about something and they’re making me absolutely miserable.

I ran through a long and extensive list of “could it be” questions with the oncologist, and the answer to every last one of them was essentially “I doubt it. Never seen that before.”

And this is why my anxiety is off the charts. Medical limbo. Again. In the images from recent scans, it still looks like lymphoma. Doc mentioned there are medicines that can cause a pseudo-lymphoma, but I’m not on any of them, so… infection?

Infection is possible, but there’s not a blood test that can be ordered without a whole lot of guessing. “So it would be a crapshoot?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. He needs to suspect something first. And. Well.

*shrug*

The ghosts of all my inconclusive tests are already haunting. The bills are accumulating.

Consult with the surgeon—not the actual surgery—is next week. It’s likely they’ll take an axillary (armpit) node because it’s just easier to do. The mandibular (jaw) one that started this most recent nightmare is kinda hard to get to and there’s a potential to screw up the nerves there.

For those keeping up at home, this journey started last March. But I’ve had lymph node issues, including two mostly unhelpful rounds of amoxicillin, dating back to 2022. 

I’m really tired of appointments and tests and the physical poking (it freaking hurts, yo) but there’s no other way to fix anything until they know what they’re trying to fix.

Thanks for the lovely and supportive comments and for the wishlist gifts, folks. When I know more, you’ll find the info here.

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