So what's the deal with all the pulp mystery? Nero Wolfe, particularly. At first I thought I'd write convalescence-that implies healing- but it's actually a waiting game. Waiting in doctors' and hospital waiting rooms, if I can find a snippet of quiet, I pull out the pulp fiction. An easy read. Easy to put down; easy to pick up again. No matter. It keeps me distracted and when I'm up late with worry; it's an easy escape. The way things are stretching out, I guess I'll get through all the Rex Stout we own at this rate.
Seems one test leads to another and another... Someone reassured me, "At least you're getting some answers." But at this price?? Poked and prodded. The worst part is the damned internet- all that fucking info to sift though. Like the latest test, I thought was for one problem, it's actually not. See, it's not for the problem the blood tests say, it's for one of the other problems, the one that everyone whispers, or dare not say. But I get to find this out online, instead of from a doctor. Why? Conveniently, the doctor's appointments were spaced far enough apart to allow for a whole series of tests you go through after the first (and subsequent tests) test gives a bad result. But of course, they only describe the need for the first test, not talking about the others until the negatives come in. Then it's just a call to say they found more than they expected, in my cause, double the trouble of differing types and I'm left without answers, except those online.
I tried to joke about super powers, what with the radiation crap, but jokes just fall flat when the techs know more than you do. And the techs who aren't supposed to say anything the doctor should say, slip up: "So how did you know something was wrong? Could you feel it?" My response, "How would I know what to look for?" This they don't teach medics and EMT types, it's emergency care I know. Stitch you up? Can do. Patch and bandage, okay. No problem. But this? I have felt something was wrong for quite some time. But damned if I had tagged this as a possibility.
The worst part is the waiting. If I collapsed, I could go to hospital and have everything forced through at a rapid rate. Of course it may mean separate surgeries anyway since I'm dealing with specialists who don't cross paths, except where my body intersects. As is, I'm dealing with two sets of doctors working on different parts of me, with different blood work, different tests and exams, separate/ multiple deductibles, and now, surgery for one and waiting to hear about surgery from the other doctor. And the surgery means more questions waiting for biopsy results from two separate areas. As the surgeon said, "We'll be safe and just take all of it in both places." Then why the biopsy of what you're removing, if you're taking it all? I know, stupid question; I know the reasons. Still, it makes me feel a little upset that the surgery may not be the final solution. And that's just the one doctor. An appointment Monday with the other doctor will tell me if it's more tests and more wait and see, new meds and wait and see, or if we're moving towards nasty meds and radiation and/or surgery.
As my sister says, "It is what it is." I just wish acceptance came with patience on the side and some more information.
For now it's mystery pulp because it's better than the mysteries of living and dying.