Odds and Ends, Bits and Pieces...

It struck me this evening that, given all available evidence, my surgeon is actually a Doctor in disguise. He has two sidekicks, one with a walleye and one who looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and sounds like he ought to be punching cattle; he stoops when he walks and looks as though he's only just taken off his stripey scarf; he seems familliar to everyone, even if they've never met him.

I need to take a closer look 'round his office next time I go back. There might be a TARDIS I'm missing.

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The 20th century finally caught up with Chez Jo. I discovered the joys of Netflix Instant last night, and watched "Star Trek" (the new one) with a cat, a blanket, a box of wine from Target (don't scoff; the pinot grigiot isn't bad), a hot water bottle, and a bag of Glad Corn. Provided the wine holds out, I might never leave the house again.

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Oh, and I found the Kindle. I lost it the other day, right after I finished "Pride and Prejudice", and only just found it after looking for the *third* time under the couch cushions. Friend Anne had convinced me that the cats had stolen and hidden it.

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Did you know--I did not--that there was an eleven-percent increase in the number of women who got oral cancer in 2008? More and more of us are under the age of 60, too--the greatest growth of new diagnoses for women in 2009 was in women aged 40 to 50. That's probably due to the prevalence of HPV infection, and the fact that it takes some time for the virus to do damage to mouth and throat tissues. All of this makes early detection that much more important: caught early, your chances of surviving even the nastiest oral cancer are 80% or better; once it hits a lymph node, they drop. Substantially. To the point that "get your affairs in order" is sometimes good advice.

I, of course, had to have a cancer that not only doesn't have any risk factors, but is almost impossible to induce in a laboratory setting. Bah, humbug.

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Go to the damn dentist, is what I'm saying above.

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Speaking of which, I have to write my hygenist--the person who found Cap'n Lumpy--a thank-you note. I want to wait until after I get a solid on whether or not I'll have radiation, though. Due to the fact that everyone associated with my surgeon is a goofball and I am too, we *all* misread the calendar. Tumor board meets this coming Wednesday. You all know what to do.

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Years ago, I blogged about a weird aspic I'd had at L'Express in Montreal: pureed broccoli and cheese of some sort, in a clear, chicken-broth-based gelatin, served warm. I'm going to try making that this week, just as a sort of fuck-you to the Land of Soft Foods I'm stuck in.

And that is all. Good night. I'm going to sleep tonight under a mound of mammals.