I have been remiss in my monkey scribing duties, and I apologize to those who enjoy reading about those monkeys and to the monkeys themselves for being ignored.
The truth is there is a part of me that wants to move on from my bad monkeys and forget they ever existed. And yet, that would be rude. And when one is rude to a monkey, a monkey will always find a way to top you in rudeness. And I definitely do not want that! A happy monkey is a quiet monkey and if the bad monkeys of low grade fibromyxoid sarcomic leanings want to have a fuss made over them, then it is folly to refuse them!
My oncological surgeon thinks the same way it seems.
I received the good news a couple of weeks ago that there was no evidence of ANY monkeys in the muscle and other good bits of me they carved away a month ago. No bad monkeys lurking in the shadows. No bad monkeys hiding in little holes in the ground, hoping the troops would wander away so they could leap out and continue their reign of terror.
Like I suspected, the bad monkeys had all been huddled around a card table, intent on their own plans for mischief when the surgeon’s first strike of the scalpel took them out without them even knowing what hit them.
However… the surgeon…, he’s one of those guys who sees a shadow in every silver lining. It’s probably the nature of his job. Either that or he wants to gain some kind of glory for himself as these kind of monkeys are very very rare and a coup to a doctor like himself. He could make me the subject for a fascinating study on the rarely seen bad monkeys of the fibromyxoid jungle.
So when I saw my family doctor to show him how well my REALLY LONG incision is healing up, he offered to print me out the documents of my surgery, including a letter from the surgeon, in which he stated the good news that the biopsy came back clean BUT…. “there is almost certainly microscopic disease, somewhere.”
That line… those words… they threw me for a tailspin. My family doctor did concur that there was no evidence for the surgeon to say that which helped a bit. But what it left me with immediately was, “I am f**ked. These bad monkeys will come back and trash my temple yet! It’s only a matter of time! How much time? Days? Months? Years? How will it end? Will they slowly break me apart piece by piece? Will they rip my head off and cast it outside into the damp darkness of the jungle?”
That sent me back into a long low depression which is one reason I didn’t feel like writing here. I didn’t feel like anything actually. But I’m fighting back. Because, after research online and talking to others, my doctor is right… the surgeon can’t really say that.
Or rather… he can. In fact we ALL have microscopic evidence of disease, somewhere. It’s how our bodies work. It’s like… we all have a monkey or two wandering our temples. What matters is how we maintain our temples, how much power we give to these monkeys.
So maybe that’s the real reason I didn’t want to post here. I don’t want to glorify these monkeys anymore.
Only… I know I can help others by talking about this. I know I can help myself by talking about this. And I know that monkeys need to be watched and that taking the mickey out of a monkey, so to speak, is sometimes the best way to keeping them in line.
So now begins the “we’re watching you, monkeys!” phase of this particular adventure.
And that I can write more about in the future.
Because we ARE watching you now, bad monkeys!!!