Goliath & I: 2.0

Beach, Florida, friends: these are all good times. Unfortunately, this is not like today's or most of my recent past experiences, though. Today was rough at the start to say the least: not only have I been having really bad vision problems due to either the Dexamethasone or the lumbering Goliath itself, but I've also been having some less-than-desirable cold symptoms as well. Oh please, can I have both a giant tumor in my head and a cold at the same time. I don't think that's nearly enough punishment. Anything else you wanna give me? How 'bout some more cancer or maybe, hmmm let's see, I haven't had any terminally fatal blood disorders yet. Maybe I'll get one of those. As you can see, my morning was less than stellar to begin.

I'm going up to Baltimore to John's-Hopkins Bayview on Sunday with my family to meet with one Dr. Quinones who will be the executive-managing-super authoratitve Doctor during my surgery. This means that his hands would actually be making physical contact with my brain--neato. Not that it matters, but I don't know that I want his filthy hands touching my brain. It is mine after all, and I don't want anyone's damn hands touching it.

Needless to say, this experience is scary. Just meeting with a Doctor for a consultation scares the s--- out of me. I don't get the impression that any of the doctors really care. What happens if I have serious language problems afterward? What if I don't recover completely? What if my vision never returns to normal? What if Goliath gets pissed off that somebody's trying to remove him, and, like the incredible hulk, he swells up with violent rage?