My how time flies when you're not having fun. Thursday is almost here, which also means it's almost time to meet with Balloonman (ie the Interventional Radiologist who'll be doing my angioplasty to reverse the CCSVI). I'm sure I'm excited. Really I am. Don't look at me like that. I'm telling you the truth. I am. I'm super excited about meeting the man who'll be sticking a wire in my leg and threading it up to the main drain for my brain, to blow up balloons.
It's not like I'm scared or anything. You know me. I laugh in the face of danger, HA HA. Not scared. Not me. No. It's a walk in the park. He does it every day. I know people who've had it done. It's classed as a day procedure. It's not like he could rupture Jeff or anything. It's not like I'm having nightmares of an exploding Jeff. No. Not me.
It's not like I'm going all doom and gloom and thinking all the worst case scenarios (must put away Caplan's Stroke, 3rd Ed, damn neuropsychology training). It's not like I've been thinking of the myriad ways that Bob could be an arse and be difficult during the procedure.
As I said, that's just not me.
I have even found a picture of the balloon I think I should request. What do you think? I figure a unicorn has all the magic built it. Nothing shaped like a glittery, rainbow farting, unicorn could do me wrong.
I've been told only good things about Balloonman, so I'm hoping that he'll be nice and I'll leave his office on Thursday fully convinced it's a walk in the park. Or that I'll develop a serious case of fugue till it's all over and Jeff is banished. Either way, I've told Mr Grumpy that if I forget, he is to demand drugs on my behalf. I fully intend to sleep through the whole thing as I have absolutely no desire to know what they do.
The completely calm and not panicking Michelle :)
As a musical accompaniment how could I go past Nena's fabulous, 99 Luftballons (1984). I know it's about 99 red balloons, but as my German is limited to the names of various pressed meats and Oktoberfest, I have no idea about the rest. Still didn't stop me from rocking to it, and shouting out "99 Luftballons" at the top of my lungs, at the Bluelight Discos of my youth.