Thursday, May 20, 2010

Clearing My Throat

Sometimes I think ENT stands for "Every New Technology" that gets shoved up my nose or down my throat. And please, please, please get your finger out of my ear––you're tickling what's left of my brain.

Last week I went for my check-up as a result of head & neck cancer. Dr. Lee is really very good and actually takes her time with me now that she's been intimate with my head and neck. And quite frankly, after a week at work where I was getting other things shoved into my body that I didn't enjoy, this was a piece of cake. (I'll take a tube up my nose, a rubber finger shoved in my mouth and having my tongue jerked around over a bad week at work any day).

I did have to wait for over an hour to see the Doctor. She was running late––as usual––and I took this opportunity to escape from my Blackberry and the chaos at work for a little power nap. (Woke myself up snoring). So while it tried my patience, I did get some rest and time to chill.

Once I got in the chair, I waited another 20 minutes. This time, I just stared out the window. Which gave me a chance to appreciate the fact that I was actually ABLE to stare out the window almost 3 years after being diagnosed with cancer. This must have been God's way of giving a slap in the face and remind myself that I have a great life and am very blessed with a wonderful, loving family. I'm sometimes forget what's really important in life. I care so much about too many things. And I forget I have to take care of myself and my happiness first.

Dr. Lee comes knocking herself into the room and says, "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." I tell her I understand the desire to fit 26 hours into a 24 day. And she breaks into a big smile and we chat about why in the world we work so hard all the time. After shoving, tugging and pulling on my ENT, she pulls the gloves off and gets an even bigger smile, when she says, "I think I don't want to see you for a year. Everything looks great." I tell her I'm going to miss her and she says, "that's a good thing." I get out of the chair. Pay my co-pay. Head out the door. And have to clear my throat for fear of crying for joy out in public.

See ya next year, Doc.