WHEN A STRANGER SHAVES YOUR ABDOMINAL REGION

Today I am strapped to a device; this device:



It is an odd device. In fact mine has ten electrodes rather than the pictured three or four. I could offer you a picture of my particular model, but I am far too fond of these moderately creepy illustrations to replace them for the sake of accuracy.

Any way, I am going about for the next twenty-four hours strapped -- as I said -- to this device, though I suppose, strictly speaking, it is strapped to me. It's in a right handy little fanny-pack at the moment with its myriad tentacles wending their way up my torso.

Thor gave me this device -- or rather, ordered it to be put upon me, and when Thor makes an order one does not ignore it.

But do not get too worried, dear reader, the device is to rule something out that seems right near to ruled-out-ness.

At the moment I am a bit of an anomaly, or perhaps an enigma. I have an unknown something, an obscure condition perhaps, an unexpected reaction, a hidden something-or-another, a certain thing that is not quite proper, but that likes to play hide and seek with every test run so for.

[Pause for brief tirade: The American medical system has seemingly become largely dependent upon the concept that it is all in the patient's head; that and the concept that if the patient is not, indeed, dying right before their very eyes it can't be so bad. Hmmph!]

I haven't mentioned this before, dear reader, because I was not quite sure if it was appropriate for this forum, and because I would much rather celebrate the dear Aquababy and her impending emergence, but I am realizing that I do rather need to vent, at times, my frustration over the snail's pace that diagnosis seems to be traveling.

Thus, since this is my blog, after all, I shall do what I want -- I hope you do not mind. So, once in a while, a shall pass a few hours of waiting with you, dear reader, as I go from waiting room to waiting room.