One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

The day came for the biopsy on my pancreas. I had to go to a larger city an hour from where I lived. The hospital, a teaching hospital, is a mammoth campus, totally overwhelming to anyone. It's basically a fortress built into a hillside, a city of its own. The building where I was to have my biopsy looked remarkably similar to the mental institution where One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was filmed. Ironically, the actual building is only a few hours away from here. I did not get good vibes from the prehistoric, crumbling structure. I shared my concerns with the nurse who gave me a threadbare gown to put on that I assume was once a shade of blue. He brightly informed me that my suspicions were correct, this used to be the mental health department up until the late 70's. Thanks Gaylord Focker, that's just what I wanted to hear. I'm pretty sure I saw Randle McMurphy preparing for his lobotomy down the hall. So after a cocktail of happy pills, a tube resembling a Hoover attachment was stuck down my throat and slices were made into my tumor, who I named Ted. Upon waking and leaving the creepy-ass edifice, I felt like I had swallowed a porcupine and sounded like an 80 year old Vegas cocktail waitress (and not in the sexy way). I had a post-op appointment right before Christmas with the surgeon who did my appendectomy. She asked me about the biopsy and if I had the results yet. I said I didn't and she said that she was sorry that I'd have to worry about it over the holidays. I was kind of surprised because it never dawned on me that I might have something to worry about. I had already survived a benign cyst on my thyroid (or so I thought) and weird cysts on my wrist and scalp. This was just another bump, maybe an overnight hospital stay, whatever. I had a baby learning to crawl, a full time job and a life to deal with. I've found that whenever you say that you don't have time for a disaster, the universe tends to send one your way just to be a jackass.