Category: Uncategorized Page 11 of 152

My foot had been getting worse and the hobbling around was getting pretty old, so I made an appointment with a podiatrist.

I was almost back to normal before my appointment rolled around, but an aggressive swim put me back to “okay, this is bad” and I kept my appointment.

The nurse had me fill out the stupid and pointless paperwork, then collected my co-pay, and from there it was to the exam room where I took off my shoes and socks.

She collected my symptoms, then checked in with the doctor who wanted an x-ray.  I had to stand on a platform and get irradiated, then it was back to the exam room to fold some paper (naturally) and wait for the doctor.

When he arrived he had good news for me – no fracture.  Once he started to manipulate my foot, the diagnosis came pretty quickly:

Capsulitis of the Second Toe

Which means that the ligaments and tendons around my toe are inflamed.  It gets a little better when I don’t bend my foot – and much worse when I do.  Apparently, not that uncommon for this particular toe since it’s the longest one and moves the most.

He taught me how to wrap the toe in a particular way and called in a prescription.  In about a month or so – if it’s not much better – then it’s a cortisone shot and a boot.  I hobbled my way out of the office, hurting worse with the manipulation and the tape, and I was on my way.

I looked it up today and okay, wow, this could get much worse.  If left untreated, the tissues could degrade and permanently dislocate my toe unless I get surgery.

https://www.acfas.org/Content.aspx?id=1482

Also, I might have stolen some tape from the doctor.  As he was getting ready to leave I think he said I could keep the roll of tape and left it on the counter.  I finished putting my shoes on and pocketed the tape – but since he didn’t hand it to me, now I’m wondering if I heard him right.

It’s good tape, incidentally.  And I’m going to use all of it.

So, we’ll see how this goes.

I had a really good swim the other day and my last 50 meters (the long length of the pool) I did in 51.5 seconds.  Which is pretty awesome.

Pumped up from that, I hit the pool today and while I wasn’t going to break any records – I was looking forward to my swim.

There was a woman already swimming in the lane and since she was alone in the lane, she was swimming down the middle.  Once I was sure she saw me and moved over to one side, I hopped in and got started. And as we went along, we naturally split the lane and were completely out of each other’s way.

Enter then, the Dirtbags.  DB1 (the leader), DB2, and DB3.    All were much faster swimmers than we were and at least two of them were getting direction from one of the swim coaches.

So, there’s strike one.  They had the rest of the pool for training, but had to take over the one Open Swim Lane.

There were 5 of us for a bit, but the woman that was there stopped swimming almost as soon as these guys got in.  

So, strike two.  Lane hogging and driving people out is not right.

And then, DB1 went full DB.  On nearly every lap, he would stop and rest at the shallow end and then wait until just after I’d turned around.  Then he’d take off and pass me – flailing around enough to swamp water in my face as he went past and then cutting me off as he got in front of me.  See, he wasn’t quite fast enough to pull that mauvere off since there were two other guys in the pool. So, I’d have to stop so I didn’t get kicked in the head and wait for him to go on ahead.

Over and over again.  

And I got angrier and angrier each time he did it.  I finished my laps and got out of the pool, almost frothing in fury.

I got dressed angrily, went out to my car angrily,  and had to work to keep my anger in check on the drive home – and then cooked dinner angrily.

Once I had some food in my belly and some perspective, I realized it was pointless – as most anger is.

None of these guys were doing anything intentionally malicious – if anything, they were probably mad at me for being so slow.  Though, I was there first.

Instead, it was more likely that they just didn’t give a shit.  I just utterly didn’t matter and they gave no thought to me at all.    Which is no better, but whatever.

Incidentally, DB1 was doing it wrong.  If you need to pass someone, you’re supposed to tap them on the foot and then they’ll stop at the end of the lane and let you pass.  Those are the rules. And I did stop to let them pass – it just didn’t work since they would stop too.

So, they didn’t run me out, but they did put a damper on me.  It feels good to power through the water and feel like laps melt away – but less fun to get passed and swamped and nearly kicked in the head.

Over – and did I mention? Over again.

I’m hoping that when the summer session hits we won’t see them as much.  I don’t mind sharing a lane with someone courteous – but if these guys stick around I’m going to get a membership at the rec center just to avoid the fight.

So, I don’t think they were really trying to be dirtbags, but they were and I’m still cranky about it.

Spring has taken a long time to really get going and it’s been pretty rainy.  I’ve had to drive in some intense rainstorms and I seem to do this during the worst lighting.  Day heading into night, night heading into day, and just plain night.

My vision is not great in the dark and when the visibility plummets with the rain, well, so much the worse.

I realized that I have specific set of behaviors for adapting to these conditions:

• Headlights on when the wipers come on.
• Wipers from Occasional to Regular to Frantic.
• Radio off. I dunno why, but I always turn it off. I guess it’s a “minimize distractions” thing
• If there’s someone else in the car, conversation stops. Same deal, I guess.
• Firm grip on the steering wheel at 10 and 2
• And if I can manage it, I tilt my seat all the way upright.

Everything set to gather as much sensory data as I can.  Like the Terminator, right? From there, it’s “find and constantly re-find the lines”, stay between the lines, and keep track of every other car on the road.  And then try to find a balance of speed between being safe and getting away from the bad weather.

Wears me down, but I always get to my destinations safely.  It’s weird how a little rain can completely change a casual drive with moderate concentration to a second-by-second sensory glut.  Never occurs to me to stop and wait out it.

The way out is the way forward.

——————————

I’ve been swimming more and have noticed a change in my shoulders and chest – and a little in my arms too.  I like how that feels and so I’m trying to hit the pool every day. And do a mile every time.

But lately, the lanes have been set to the long distance  – 50 meters one way. And the Open Swim lanes are singular – we get one, the rest of the pool is taken up by high school swim teams. Sigh.

If there are just two of us in the lane, we usually opt to split the lane.  We each take half and easily stay out of each other’s way. If there are three or more people in the lane, we switch to a “circle swim” – everyone stays to the right, comes straight in at the end of the lane, and launches back out at an angle to switch sides.

I’m not great at this because I’m not that fast, but I usually hold my own and I try to stay out of the faster swimmers’ way.

And when it works, it’s fine.  When it doesn’t…

Last week, there was a day when I got to the pool and the one open lane.  At the shallow end was a guy trying to teach his girlfriend how to swim. (Wrong pool for that, buddy.) At the deep end, a coach at the edge of the pool giving surface diving lessons to a swimmer on his team. (Not enough to take up the rest of the pool, is it?)  I got in and started out – and did a pretty fair job of keeping track of everyone. I tried to circle swim so as not to surprise anyone and that worked up until two more people got in the pool – and decided to swim side by side in the same direction.  

What the hell, people?  We had six people in one lane and I was the only one doing it right.  I thought about giving up in disgust, but decided I was going to make this work – though still disgusted.  I dodged and wove as the swim lesson switched sides or drifted to the middle. Sped up to get out of the way of the diver. And zoomed between the side-by-side swimmers – sometimes diving to the bottom of the pool to avoid getting kicked in the head.

I got my laps in and found it’s possible to mutter under my breath while underwater.  Not sure if that’s a special talent I’ve nurtured or if anyone can do it, but I’ve mastered it.

Today, we had 5 people in the lane and I was the slow one.  Everyone kept passing me and I would check at the end of each lap to see if I needed to wait so that I wasn’t slowing anyone down.  I tried to be courteous, but it kinda got me down that I was so slow. Thought about cutting it short, but then I realized that the other, faster swimmers were having to rest more than I did.  One guy would zoom past me, then have to rest at each end of the lane.

Okay, I see how it is.  You may be faster, but I can out-distance you any day of the week.  

And today, bitches, is Wednesday.

I poured it on at the end, not stopping or giving way for anyone that had paused.  If they wanted to pass me, they were going to have to work for it. And the last few laps, no one did/could.

Grab your surfboard, kids, and enjoy the wake I leave behind me.  Even if I am old enough to be your dad…

…this old man can move.

It’s my own fault, really.

Our e-commerce system got attacked recently and the company that runs this decided to implement a CAPTCHA on all the sites.  This is one of those where you see some characters and lines and have to type the characters in to get past it.

It’s annoying, but it can help if done well.   This one wasn’t. I didn’t see this in action until I was getting ready to launch a new and complicated e-commerce site.  I had put a lot of work into this and when I clicked the link, it went first to the CAPTCHA.

Imagine if you went to Amazon.com and had to decipher and type in some characters before you could even see a logo.  Not good.

I sent a note to our cashier’s office since they manage our local instance.  The subject was: CAPTCHA implementation = terrible

I gave an example, railed against having this as the starting page, expressed outrage at the lack of accessibility, and grumbled at how our users will think this is a mistake and lack confidence in the links.  

I wrapped up this gem of an email by asking if I could have the contact information for our rep so that I could scold them.

I have a good rapport with the folks in the cashier’s office and we appreciate the work that goes into these systems and interacting with the users.  I figured I’d get a quick note back and I could take it from there.

INSTEAD…

The cashier’s office forwarded the note to the rep directly with all my text intact – who then forwarded it to some regional rep. With my request to “scold” right there above my signature.

Uh-oh.

In a few minutes, my phone was ringing with an unknown number.  I was already on a call and I dreaded the voice-mail that was left.  And it was the regional guy looking to set up a conference call with us.

He followed up with an email, admitting this was a rushed implementation, and would like to talk to us about the situation.   The guy from the cashier’s office replied with, “Anthony is the primary on this one and can take the call, he’ll update me if needed,”

So, instead of UA vs. the e-commerce company – it’s the e-commerce company vs. well…me.

I didn’t really expect it to be quite this dark under the bus where I’ve been tossed.

And yet…

Though my language could have been more professional  – and would have been if my flippant note hadn’t been forwarded – I’m not wrong.  The CAPTCHA should have been on the payment page to do the most good and the version they are using is old tech and not accessible. I’ve got users that literally get confused if there’s more than one item to choose from – a CAPTCHA on the homepage is going to blow their minds.   

So, on Monday, someone is going to get scolded.  Might be me, might be them. My plan is to be reasonable, but firm, and express my concerns in a professional and user-advocating manner.  

And the cashier’s office?  

They are off my Christmas cookie list.

O-F-F.

A few weeks ago, I laced up a not-quite-new pair of shoes and set about my day.  By the time I could take them off, I could barely walk. I had a huge pain across the top of my right foot and the foot itself was swollen.

I blamed the shoes, swore not to wear them again, and I recovered in a couple of days of wearing other shoes.

On Monday, I had a good swim and felt all over pretty good when I went to bed.  I woke up in the middle of the night with my toes hurting a bit, but managed to ignore it and get back to sleep.

Tuesday morning, though, I was hurting.  I wore a pair of crocs and hobbled around through the day.  When it was time to go home I skipped my swim and went and bought a cane.  I didn’t think it was going to really get to a point where I wouldn’t be able to move without one, but I wanted to be ready. Fun note, the clerk at the drugstore offered to put the cane in a bag. Really.

Jim came over that evening and with a little help from the internet and some careful prodding, we deduced that one toe in particular might be broken.  He had a similar thing happen to him a while ago – a stress fracture that felt better for a while and then would hurt again. Seemingly randomly.

I think mine might have flared up from an overly forceful kick off from the wall in the pool – or sleepwalking around my house and running something.

Jim ended up going to a podiatrist who couldn’t really do anything for him except put him in a boot while it healed.  I instead elevated my foot, put some ice on it, and tried to rest it.

And I was feeling down.  Slowing down, while certainly good for me, is not a thing I do lightly.  I’m not meant to mosey.

But, mosey I did through the rest of the evening – even going so far as to use my dishwasher since Jim didn’t want me standing for that long.

Note: Yeah, I have a dishwasher.  I don’t use it – though I’ve run it empty a few times since I moved in so the seals don’t dry out.   Hand washing the dishes doesn’t seem like much of a chore to me. Anyway, the dishwasher did work and did a pretty good job.

When I went to bed last night, I elevated my foot and hoped for the best.   And when I woke up, it hardly hurt at all! Until, that is, I put weight on it.  Just about dropped to the floor.

I recovered, adjusted my gait, and took my cane with me to work just in case.   I got better through the day and while it still hurt a bit, it wasn’t nearly as bad.  

And after work, I taped a couple of toes together and hit the pool for a short swim.

It still hurts a bit and I’m not 100%, but I think I’m on the mend.  At least until I exacerbate it again.

I should, of course, go to the doctor – and I will if it doesn’t continue to get better.  Though I kinda wish medical science had advanced beyond the “Here, wear this boot for 100 days,”

So there’s my really boring injury report.  Much like a Monday, it’s been more annoying than painful.

I had a not-great day.  It wasn’t hugely bad – I didn’t get fired, arrested, or struck by a meteor (though that would have made a great story if I’d survived it) – but it wasn’t great either.  Just the usual stuff that wore me down.

I hit the pool after work and of course it was crowded.  One of the recreational swimmers offered to share his lane and I did – but he insisted on doing the backstroke and was “swimming wide”.  I scraped my knuckles on the lane divider more than once, but eventually he was done and got out. Leaving the lane to just me.

I kicked it up a notch now that I could stretch out and made some progress towards my goal for the day  – 42 laps.

At around lap 34, I saw that the woman in the lane next to me – who I could tell was a phenomenal swimmer – come to a halt mid-lane and clutched her leg.

I stopped too and swam back a bit so that I was even with her.

“You okay?” I asked, and she said she was, but was still struggling with a painful leg cramp.  Since the lifeguards were – for some reason – all the way down at the other end of the pool watching over the swim team… I decided I’d watch over her.  

I tread water and waited to see if she would recover or get need a rescue.  When she fought her way past the leg cramp and resumed her swim, I did as well.

As much as I like being focused on my swim and getting away from literally everyone else, it was important that I stop and – just for a moment – pay attention.

I hit the pool today after work and – fortified with some pre-workout oatmeal – I swam like crazy.  I plowed through 30 laps like it was nothing. Well, I was still a slowpoke compared the high school team, but I still kicked ass, dang it.

I saw a guy a couple lanes over that looked like he was struggling a bit – and also didn’t have goggles. He was still going when I got out and I stopped to his lane to try and give him my goggles – telling him that I had an extra pair at home and the chlorine was intense.  He thanked me, but declined, and I headed to the locker room to change.

From there, I headed north.  One of my friends had suggested a yoga class in the Cleveland area and though it had been a while since I’d done any yoga, I was game.

I got to the venue plenty early and followed a guy in that was carrying a yoga mat. Seemed like a safe bet.  He guided me to the third floor of the church and to the yoga room – then introduced me to one of the female instructors.

Wait, what?  

I had thought this was naked yoga and a mixed gender class seemed, welllllllll, a little odd.  I took off my shoes and the instructor gave me directions to the restroom to change.

Now, a lesser man might have panicked, but I had also brought yoga clothes in case things went off the rails.  Which they appeared to have done so. My friend had decided not to come, so I was winging it.

I got changed, got back to the yoga room, and got introduced to the other female instructor. It was then that I asked, “Where’s Dan?” – who was listed as the contact instructor on the MeetUp app.

“Oh,” she replied, “You’re here for the other yoga class.  That’s down the hall,”

I thanked her, gathered up my gear and headed to the other class – where there were 2 other male students and a male instructor waiting.

We introduced ourselves and chatted a bit while we waited for the start time and got out mats set up.

When it was clear that this was it for the class, the door was closed and we stripped down.  Each guy had his own mat and we started the class with some deep breathing. Cool, I can breath, no biggie.

Then the first half of the class had us mostly in a push-up pose and I didn’t fair so well.  My left arm, ever since the break/surgery/plates/screws is no longer a “load bearing structure” and I was hurting pretty quick.  

When we finally got to stand up, we did a bunch of poses that had our feet in a wide stance.  And the bottoms of my feet kept cramping up.

The instructor had a couple of heaters going  – which was good at the start (cause we were all naked in an old and drafty church) but soon became too much.  

We did a lot of stretching and my back is now a little sore as I write this, but I otherwise recovered in a couple of minutes.  

The class ended with the “corpse pose” where you just lie flat on your back and relax.  On literally better ground, I did fine with that too. There was a hearty round of “Namaste” from everyone and we wiped down our mats and got dressed.  

Not confident I could find my way back out, I waited until one of the guys was ready to be  my guide – then made my way to my car and headed home.

I tried my best with the yoga – doing some parts well and faltering in others.  The nudity was pretty much irrelevant – we might just as well been wearing clown costumes or the traditional yoga gear of the folks down the hall.

And I think that disappointed me a bit.  As men, we’re literally all buttoned up all day.  Holding back our emotions and feelings – and playing things close to the vest, as it were.

I had hoped that, without the buttons or vests, we could maybe get in touch with something a little deeper within ourselves. To reconnect with who we are as men without all the trappings – and use some yoga stretching as the guide.

I guess I was expecting too much.

It was a fine yoga session and I’m sure I would get better at it over time if I kept at it.  The drive to Cleveland was a bit long for as short as the session was so I may try to find a location closer.  Likely with pants.

The trip made for a good adventure, but I think I’m going to stick with swimming as my main form of exercise.

So, Namaste – and good night.

I try to listen in on the operators while they are at work in case I hear a phone call go off the rails – I can then walk across the hall and help out.

Today, I heard the only male operator currently on staff (other than me) joke with his female co-worker that his mom said that she thought he “sounded gay” on the phone.  They laughed about it and he deliberately shifted his voice to sound – at least by his ear – more gay. His co-worker said she didn’t think he sounded gay when he answered the phones and the conversation moved on.

I didn’t say anything.  I couldn’t figure out how to out myself and turn the conversation around without coming across as angry.  There wasn’t malice there, just a sort of causal stereotyping.

And I was a little ashamed at myself for feeling a small surge of pride that I’d passed – again – for being straight. As those hiding who I was should have earned me a prize.

That instinct, born from fear, to hide what I am when I can – well, it reared its ugly head again.

Many years ago, I was out to one of my co-workers and he and I were walking across campus with one of our student assistants.  The student made some mildly offensive comment about being gay and my co-worker thought it would be amusing to goad the student into digging themselves into a hole. It went on for a few minutes before I, disgusted with both of them, outed myself.

The student was mortified and I tried to downplay it.  His opinion of me didn’t matter much and again, there wasn’t real malice there.

Years earlier, when I was still all the way in the closet, I went to Vegas for a long weekend trip with my boyfriend at the time.  We got in a cab to go to a show and the driver asked if we were in town for the consumer electronics convention. My boyfriend said we were just in town for a vacation.  The driver then asked if were were visiting from San Francisco. In those few words that my boyfriend said, the cabbie had guessed – correctly – that he was gay. And by extension, so was I.  We told him we were from Ohio and the conversation ended.

It was a scary moment for me.  I usually don’t “sound” gay. With a little effort, I can pass as straight in most circumstances – though no disguise holds up to long term scrutiny and I’m certain that I’m not as successful as I think I am.

But, there I was, a long way from home and suddenly outed.  My guard went up and I raced through fight or flight plans by the dozen. It amounted to nothing, but the incident stuck with me.

Now, all those years later, I still find myself hiding when I can – because I can.

When Jim and I go out to eat, we’re likely to get seated in the bar area so we can watch “the sports”.  The hostesses, at least, are fooled.

It’s easy and it doesn’t cost much effort to not hold hands, to pass.  But there is a cost. And by letting my student assistant “get away” with his comment – no matter how innocuous – I fed right into that.

I should have gone across the hall and said something. I should have embarrassed him, even if just a little.  I should have… I don’t know. Done something, said something.

And maybe I still will.  The importance of the lesson outweighs my inclination to not bring it up.  I’ve been sitting here writing and trying to figure out what to say and how to say it.  And I guess I have it figured out enough that I’m going to take him aside and try to explain when he’s next in the office.

It doesn’t matter if he know I’m gay or not.  Except, maybe, it does. And maybe we can both learn a little.

I got my taxes done on Sunday.

I think.

I hope.

I got there early, as I usually do, and got checked in.  It must have taken the receptionist aback that I was early and she offered their drop off service.  I said “No thanks, I’m fine with waiting,”

She told me the name of the tax pro that I would be seeing – different than I’d had last year – and said he would be finished soon.  I was fine with that and sat to wait with some paper to fold.

When it got close to the appointment time, another tax pro came over and told me that my guy was just finishing up.  I thanked her and said I was really fine with waiting.

When it got to be a little past the time for my appointment and he still wasn’t done, she came back over and took me back to her office to do my taxes.   It looked like she’d been working on someone else’s and I saw far too much of their info before she got that put away.

I saw on the computer screen that had her name that she had 4 years of tax experience.

Hmmmm….

We got started and I gave her my paperwork – and then my driver’s license when she asked for it.  She commented that they had the Date of Birth on the new licenses in a strange and hard to read spot, but she got it typed in – then commented that I had a birthday coming up.

Puzzled, I told that it had just passed.  We looked at the license again and that number might have been a 4 instead of a 1 – though the full DoB was elsewhere on the license and much more readable there.

Hmmmm…

With that corrected, she starting going through the paperwork – carefully entering information onto the screens and then studying it.  And then deleting those records.

I tried to follow along and it looked like she got the interest paid and interest earned forms mixed up.  When the summary fields showed red errors and the refund was projected at $3,000 more than last year, she called another tax pro for some help.

Hmmmm…

The two of them worked through that error and she kept going – setting “completed” forms aside and then going back to them to re-enter the info.  One of the documents had a number in the wrong box and she called for some help again – they decided that it should just be skipped.

Finally got around to the refund and it was set to be about $100 less than last year – which is what I expected.  She asked if I wanted direct deposit and I handed her my open checkbook. She typed the numbers in – twice – and needed my help to correct the error that kept coming up.

Hmmmm…

I had to sign the documents electronically and then also sign them manually. Also, hmm…

With everything submitted and printed out, I went up front to pay my bill.  I have to mail in the city tax info, but the rest has been submitted online.  I got the text messages saying that the Federal and State had been accepted.

And…  I’m guessing I’ll be audited. With as much trouble as she had, I’m almost certain there was some mistake there.  The company will cover it, but holy crap, I have no confidence in my taxes this year. And since that’s a huge part of why I have them done instead of doing them myself, I’m a little wary.  I’m debating on going back and seeing someone else for a double-check.

Just in case.

———————-

We’ve got support ticket system at work that is being upgraded.  There’s some confusion at the moment since requests sent in by email are going to the old system, then manually closed (with a How Did We Do? email) and replicated in the new system by the helpdesk crew.  

The users are deeply confused and one of these tickets got to be such a mess I gave up and called the user and we then finished working it out by email.  I closed both versions of the tickets and updated my boss.

He’s been a little frustrated with the change-over as well and we talked about it for a few minutes to see how we might be able to help.  Not coming up with any solutions, I instead offered:

“It’s like Global Thermonuclear War.  The only way to win is not to play,”

Being the complete geek he is, he got the reference immediately and did a real-life Laugh Out Loud.

It’s the little things.

I had a physical and follow-up scheduled for this morning with my doctor – and one of the things he wanted to check was my blood pressure.  Last time I was in there, it was a little high and I was worried I’d have to start taking medicine for it.

The appointment was at 8:45 and I figured I’d go into work at 7 and then leave from there at 8 – making sure that the doors were opened and the switchboard was ready to go.  I got a little work done before it was time to go and when 8 rolled around, I was re-coated and ready to go.

Except, no student operator.

I went ahead and turned on the system and took a few calls, heading right towards a freak out.  If she didn’t show – what was I going to do? I had no backup.

5 after

7 after

10 after – finally, I heard the door.

She came into the office – car trouble, apparently – and I was on my way.

It had snowed just enough that I needed to scrape off my car, and then I was on my way.

Except that there were streets closed off and I had to divert.  And then I was on my way.

Onto the highway and then a dead stop.  Traffic was bumper to bumper as far as I could see.  We were then moving a little bit – about 4 miles an hour – but I was starting to ramp up the freak out.  I tried to determine alternate routes and tried to weigh stoplights and unplowed side streets verses the highway clearing.

At last, we got past the accident and back up to speed.  

Tick.

Tock.

Ahead, another accident but this was off to the side and didn’t slow us down.

Finally, the exit I needed.  I waited approximately 137 years through each of the lights on that road, and eventually reached the doctor’s office. I parked, dodged the other cars in the lot, and made it inside.

I stopped at the indicated marker in the lobby and waited about 5 minutes before the clerk looked up from her screen.

“Can I help you?” she asked, somewhat exasperated that she had to, I dunno, talk to me.  I had my cards ready, and told her my appointment information.

Once checked in, I sat down and looked at my watch.  

Five minutes to spare.

I used those 5 minutes and the next 5 minutes to settle myself down. Deep breathing, counting in binary… and then my name was called.

The nurse was a little more engaged this time and paid me an accidental compliment when she had to swap out the BP cuff for my bicep for a bigger one.  

And my blood pressure was somehow normal.  I’d also lost 4 pounds in the last 2 weeks, inadvertently.

She gave me a gown to change into and I waited for the doctor to come in.  He checked me over and said I need to watch my weight a little and keep exercising.

I got changed back into my work clothes and stopped on the way out to get some blood drawn.

And, I gotta tell you, this phlebotomist was hands-down the absolute best.  I’ve given a lot of blood and been stuck by a lot of needles and this was the least painful ever.  She should win awards – and I told her so.

A bandage on my arm and I was headed back to work.

Strange morning.

I had gotten myself really worked up, but it was pretty okay.  And for those of you playing along at home, the lump is gone and I’m right as rain.