The biggest party pooper.

Party pooper- A person who poops at a party. Today, I would like to be that person. Not that I’m going to do the doo literally, but it’s close, seeing that it’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year and all.

To start being a dampener, I would like to apologise for my absence (not that I think anyone notice…), for there’s been sooooo much going on recently.

If you have been scrolling through my recent posts, you’d know that I’ve been coughing for some time now. To be precise, it’s been about two months and a week. After consuming tons of meds; ranging from various cough syrups and pills to inhalers to manage the wheezing to a round of antibiotics on top of countless visits to multiple GPs, I decided to go consult a specialist.

So last Friday, while the world was caught up in the frenzy of last-minute Christmas shopping and gift-wrapping and starting of festive meals, I found myself in a very clinical setting which included going for x-rays.

On a side note, don’t you just hate it when they make you change into the gown with only your panties left on for modesty, then make you wait in an open area, of which you can be sure the air conditioning is set to sub-zero temperatures, where there are tons of males around trying to see if they can turn on their internal x-ray machine to try to locate your nipples?!

Yah. Me too. Come on guys, have you never seen an erect nipple before? It’s so obvious where your eyes land the moment you hear the click to the changing room unlock.

That aside (and to cut the long story short), what got me feeling like I jumped off a cliff without a cord was what the doctor found. There was a cloudy image in my right lung which in that good man’s words: “shouldn’t be there”. Great. Just great.

While it didn’t seem that serious to the point where he felt I needed tests done straightaway, it is still worrisome considering he kept staring and relooking at it, sent me out and called me back in to scrutinise them films and said the next chilling words.

“You need to get a CT scan done. It’s an anomaly and I don’t know what it is”.

Be still, my beating heart. He said it’s probably nothing but he needs that scan done to be sure. Having ruled out an injury and a previous lung infection, he really did look quite worried but told me to have a Merry Christmas anyway. Really? Who stole Christmas now???

Of course I’m scared. Who am I, He-Man?! One little thing to note which I’m very proud of myself of, is that I did not shed a tear. I also did not tell my parents because I don’t want them to be worried just in case it’s really nothing. But my virtual friends, I must tell you I’m scared shitless. I’ve told a couple of people in nonchalent tones but that’s not how I really feel. And I just let myself down by allowing tears to fall as I typed that last line.

I’ll arrange to go for that scan these couple of days. At times like this, I really wish that I have a reassuring hand to hold. Just to you know, feel a little protected and less alone.

Every year I wish not for presents but a little more love, and year after year I’m disappointed. And I usually just go “Bah, humbug, it’s ok because I’m still fabulous!”. This year turned out to be hugely disappointing. Maybe it’s because I feel so vulnerable now that I’m turning into a giant, soppy marshmallow.

If this post isn’t the biggest piece of turd you’ve seen let fly at a party, I would also be mildly disappointed.

Have yourself a merry and blessed Christmas. I’ll clean the poop later.



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