Another text conversation between myself and FoN….
(if you’re wondering, yes, we do actually talk on the phone. But she was in Vancouver.)
Me: I got a really quick call-back from the doc on my gall bladder ultrasound. It’s freaking me out.
FoN: Don’t freak out. Gall bladder surgery is no big deal and really common. For an 80-year-old.
FoN: When’s your follow-up appointment?
Me: Wednesday. Expect doom and gloom until then. Are you home yet?
FoN: Just waiting to board my plane. That I’m pretty sure is going to crash and kill me.
Me: Are you trying to one-up my doom and gloom, or is the weather bad?
FoN: Just trying to be supportive.
Me: Lol. Thanks. Don’t feel obliged to MAKE the plane go down just to distract me though. You’ll be dead and I’ll still have a liver tumor.
FoN: Liver tumor, huh? Let’s go get SUPER drunk. Then if the next day your abdomen hurts more than your head, you can worry.
Me: Or maybe a fetus that died in utero and then ossified. I think I saw that on TLC. Or maybe CSI.
FoN: Cool. Think they’ll let you keep it?
Me: After they dig it out of me with sharp sticks and no anesthesia, probably.
FoN: I’m almost positive they will give you anesthesia.
Me: They’ll probably leave bits of stick in me, though.
FoN: Then your fossilized dead fetus will have something to play with.
Me: I may have to blog this conversation again.
FoN: I would expect nothing less.