Oh, that’s no different from every other day. 
(response to purplehorseshoe)
Now, Cat, that’s just plain evil! I’m having a hard enough time working already. Obviously. 
Come to think of it, even if it’s Zoloft, the generic of that doesn’t come anywhere near $170.
My thyroid gland is enlarged. I’m getting it ultrasounded on the 23nd.
So, no big deal. I mean I know I have Hashimoto’s Disease, I take synthroid, my numbers are good. So surely everything is perfectly fine. Or I have thyroid cancer.
Great.
Don’t buy trouble, you know. It comes fast enough.
My PSA number has gone up this year (Prostate Specific Antigen count going up = increased probability of cancer), so off to the urologist. After a very thorough digital exam, he says everything feels normal, and he doesn’t want to do a biopsy based on one data point, so I get another blood test in 3 months.
So I’m all “La la la, nothing is wrong, it was just a blip in the numbers, la la la.” Until I absolutely have to pay attention, this goes waaay on the back burner of my concerns.
Roddy
Yeah, this is my attitude. So, we have a problem with our toilet. We don’t know what it is, but we rent, so the landlord will fix it.
So in the hour after we found out and prepared to call the landlord, my SO went through the following options:
the whole thing is rotted
it’s leaking
they will have to rip out the entire bathroom
we will have to find some place else to shower and use the toilet
they will make us pay for it all
they will be super mad at us
they will sue us
At this point I called a halt to the whole proceedings. I felt like I needed a referee whistle! I’m all “Can we wait until any or all of those happen before freaking out? Please? It’s not good for you and it’s not good for me!”
So he calmed down. We got the landlord in to look at it, who very understandingly said the building was old, the tile was the wrong kind, they’d get a plumber in to look at it, and they’d let us know, but please not to feel like it was our fault.
I bit my tongue so hard it hurt to avoid saying “I TOLD you so.” To his credit, he admitted it himself, sheepishly.
Don’t borrow trouble!
Best wishes for good outcomes to both of you. I wish I could find a video clip, but on the Canadian show “Corner Gas,” comedian Brent Butt (how’s that for an appropriate name?) is talking about how he had to get his prostate checked, and the exam was like his doctor was going for the last pickle in the jar. 
My rant - I finally looked it up, and yup, just as I suspected, my birthday is on Grey Cup Sunday again this year. To put that in perspective for you US Americans, that’s like having your birthday on the day the Superbowl is played, and having zero interest in football. At least my husband isn’t a huge football fan; he’ll still acknowledge my existence that day. 
You should just thank your every kind of stars you don’t have MY landlord, for which everything but the lawsuit actually happened in the same situation you describe. That, and they cheaply re-tiled the bathroom but didn’t actually fix any of the underlying problems.
Yah, on the upside the physical exam for an enlarged thyroid is MUCH less invasive than that for the prostate…
My kitty is gone.
Kinda empty here now, in more ways than one.
Went back to work after handing her over to my sister to be dropped off.
An hour later, the guy next to me was fired. Liked him.
Not been a great day.
The fucking landline is down, and the security system is have a fit over it. I’m ready to rip the damn loudspeaker out of the wall. :mad:
Chimera, I’m so sorry it worked out that way with your kitty. I lost my 11 year old to cancer a few weeks ago and I know that empty feeling. You tried your best.
It’s funny how every doctor does it differently. You would think they would be very matter-of-fact about it (this one was) but my PCP acts like he’s afraid I’m going to think he likes doing it, or else he’s afraid that I’ll like it, so it’s like he was barely in there at all (I’m gay, and I’m pretty sure he is, so there’s a whole other thing about rectal invasiveness).
Brisk but thorough, that’s the way I like it.
Roddy.
Strep throat sucks. Get the swab done in the morning, but I kinda recognize the symptoms by now.
Symptoms which started as I was driving away from a PTO work day at the gradeschool. Which was run by a pregnant lady who juuuuust finished three months of throwing up every single morning.
So tomorrow after the swab, I get to tell her she needs to be on the lookout for more sore throat fun. And I don’t actually have her number, so I have to call someone else first and explain everything. With a very sore throat.
Pretty minor, all things considering, but I do not have time to be sick, Dammit!!
I had this same kind of problem last month when my husband’s bosses wife joined Facebook. Someone here told me about using the ‘lists’ feature to segregate her. It works. Just put your mom on the restricted list and she’ll never know. She wont see your status updates unless she actively seeks them out. Hope this helps.
Oh, and…
Dear Hubby,
You know I love you, right? So when you asked me to go fishing with you (which I hate) I agreed. Even when you said we should get out there by 8AM (double hate early mornings). Even knowing that it was going to be chilly (sucktastic). I was willing to endure these things because I love you and like to spend time with you.
So I get up before there is light in the sky, get dressed and ready, prepare the dog’s go-bag. Put a smile on my bleary face and attempt to wake you.
Now you don’t want to get up. You forgot to call the guy with your fishing gear locked iin his garage last night to get access, and you don’t want to call him so early in case he’s sleeping.
Yes. Sleeping. Early Saturday mornings must be good for that because everybody seems to be doing it. Except me.
You could have told me last night that we were’t going fishing this morning. You really could have. Butthole.
…wanders off looking for caffine…
Bunnymom, I’d acquit if I were on the jury.
I have had the blahs for several days. Now it is turning into the blues and I fear that serious depression may be on my horizon.
Absolutely nothing is going well. One snag after another after another has me so stressed out that I feel like I’m going to have a damn heart attack and die. And that is my one happy thought.
We can’t find anyone to bake our breads. The place we need to deal with for our meats has not returned our call from a week ago. Comcast sent me a contract for phones and internet, which I signed, but now they won’t sign it unless I agree to pay an additional $50.00 for installation. The city is dicking with us again and is delaying our opening date again. Our start up costs are going up and up and I feel stuck.
And to top it all off, my husband and I are fighting about everything and nothing. His neck is hurting him so bad that he can hardly move and he will not go to the fucking Doctor.
He does not want to be cremated, but if he up and dies on me in the middle of trying to open this damn deli, I’m gonna cremate him and then throw his ashes on the fucking burn pile and burn him again.
I really don’t know how much more I can take. Come on Universe, give me a fucking break already.
Bunnymom, I’d be getting his ass outta bed and making him take me out to breakfast. If I’m up on his account HE’D better be up too, dammit!
Does anybody have some spare Xanax or something? I need to medicate my wife’s grandmother because she is driving everybody nuts. She is supposed to fly from NC to upstate NY with my wife next week to visit my dying MIL. She has apparently convinced herself that it would be easier to drive (well get someone to drive her) despite the fact that it takes like 12 hours on a good day when you eat in the car and only stop to pee and gas up. She has mobility issues, uses a walker and apparently has all these retarded friends sharing helpful tidbits like: they don’t have wheelchairs at airports (WTF?), the airline WILL destroy her walker, and people regularly have their prostheses confiscated (she has a breast prosthesis). We are seriously considering saying fuck it and let her find someone to drive her at this point.
Woohoo. Someone left the front door unlocked, and big dog can easily open that one, so I’ve spent three hours driving all over the area looking for the house horse. When I first started, I spotted him at the pond in the horse pasture across the highway, but by the time I found a gate I could climb to get in, Houdini had taken off for parts unknown. I hope he’ll come home when he gets hungry, or that someone will spot the big “scary” dog and report him to the local cops. And I’m furious that no one thought I knew whereof I spoke when I kept “nagging” about not using that door, and keeping the deadbolt fastened. (Today, it was my daughter who ignored that. Last week, my husband was the culprit. What terrifies me is that the baby could just as easily have slipped out behind the dog.)
Damned dog.