I started the year at 166.8 pounds. It should have been trivially easy to lose weight by year’s end, even just a little. Instead, I gained 2.1 pounds over the past 12 months and 1.8 of them in the past seven days.
BMI is up, body fat is up. These are not good things.
It all came crashing down in the final week of this month, when I began experiencing abdominal aches that made me think my kidney infection had returned (all clear there, fortunately). I sought comfort in food of all sorts, and suddenly my weight began taking great leaps upward and onward.
It’s disappointing. I resolve to do better, but temper my expectations with what I have failed to achieve.
On the plus side, gaining 2.1 pounds over the course of a year is not exactly a ton and if I behave I could shed it and get going on real, actual weight loss soon™. I gotta believe!
Stats:
January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds
Current: 168.7 pounds Year to date: Up 2.1 pounds
December 1: 166.9 pounds December 31: 168.7 pounds (up 1.8 pounds)
Body fat: December 1: 24.5% December 31: 25.7 (up 1.2%)
Skeletal muscle mass: December 1: 29.7 kg December 31: 29.9 kg (up 0.2 kg)
tl;dr: Signs of a returning infection led met to take action, which mostly involved sitting.
The Chronology before the ER:
Thursday: Wake up and feel a dull ache in my abdomen, the same area where I had my Big Infection a year ago (this fun guy started in my urinary tract and made its way to my kidney). I make an appointment with my doctor for Monday.
Monday: The symptoms have vanished, so we agree to monitor.
Wednesday: The ache is back, but worse. It continues for several days and is worse when I lay down. No other symptoms.
Saturday: I decide to go to the ER to have it checked out.
Now, Royal Columbian Hospital is a fine facility, but its ER is meant for trauma patients, so people like me tend to have to wait. A lot. I left the condo at 10:28 a.m.
The ER Chronology:
10:28 a.m. I leave for the hospital, which is conveniently next door.
10:45 a.m. I am checked in. The ER is rapidly filling up. No one is fainting or vomiting. Yet.
11:09 a.m. They take my temperature and blood pressure. I can’t see the monitor, but from the expression on the intake person’s face, I’m assuming they are normal.
11:17 a.m. I now begin my wait for blood work. I am sitting next to the gift shop, but even though the entrance with the giant automatic doors in a room over, I still get regular gusts of cold air.
11:40 a.m. The blood work is done. It’s quick and efficient, but I later discover when I remove the cotton ball, that it’s soaked in blood. My blood. The usually nigh-invisible pin prick on my arm is very visible. I am displeased. Photo below.
12:30 p.m. We are now into the afternoon. A guy comes in and sort of collapses on the floor across from me. He might be in pain? He’s wearing sunglasses, so he looks vaguely cool while this is happening. Someone observing this leaves to get help and comes back with three security guards. One of them grabs a nearby wheelchair, they help him into it and park him near the gift shop. He seems OK now> Time will tell. At least there is still no vomiting.
1:15 p.m. I am still waiting. I don’t know precisely what is next, but whatever it is, it is not being rushed.
1:20 p.m. It turns out it’s a CT scan! I’ve gone from no CT scans ever to two just this year. Fun. They apparently have to take you to the CT scan room in a wheelchair, and I feel a little silly in it. The woman pushing me said she was my Uber driver, no charge today.
The scan is quick. I have to hold my breath three times as the machine sends me through and back out. I got a photo! (After I was done, but before they took me back to the waiting area.)
1:30 p.m. I am back near the gift shop, waiting again.
1:35 p.m. I am finally moved to the next waiting area, the inner sanctum: Zone 2 Intake. There is also a Zone 3, but I’m hoping that they are parallel, despite the numbering, and I won’t be shuttled to yet another waiting area. Although the guy sitting next to me is coughing, so maybe moving would be good. He has a mask–but isn’t wearing it. He eventually gets up for some reason and when he returns, sits farther away, which is dandy with me.
2:20 p.m. After the better part of an hour, my blood pressure and temperature are checked again. This time I can see the monitor and my temperature is a perfectly cromulent 36.7C. My pressure is 176/79? I think. I don’t remember the numbers exactly, and I can never remember what’s good or bad, but no one reacts with bulging eyes or anything, so again I assume all is normal. I am told I will need to provide a urine sample.
2:25 p.m. I am given a little bottle and directed to the washroom. I place the sample on a table outside the washroom and return to my seat. This was handy because I really had to go.
2:45 p.m. There is now only one other person here. She came in after me, so hopefully something will happen soon.
2:50 p.m. Success! I am taken to the exam room, where I exchange my t-shirt for a gown and wait on a bed behind a curtain, with others to my left and various employees milling about or walking by. Finally, my long wait is nearly over!
3:42 p.m. I am still in the exam room. My long wait is lengthening.
4:30 p.m. It is now past sunset and dark outside. I can’t see outside because there are no windows here, plus I have blue curtains all around me. It is not as captivating as it sounds.
4:40 p.m. The doctor arrives. Woo. Most of the results seem to be normal. The doctor asks some questions, prods about the abdomen and notes my non-verbal reactions (this time it is my eyes bulging when she hits the sensitive spots). She says they are going to run further analysis on my urine and will have the results in a few days. She asks if I want to start antibiotics in the interim as a precaution. I say yes, remembering the hell I went through earlier this year. She then reminds me it would be IV therapy. I still say yes, grudgingly.
5:04 p.m. The IV guy comes over and talks to me. IVs are also old school to me by now, so I just smile and nod a lot.
5:12 p.m. The worker prods the crook of my left arm. I advise him of my apparently rolling veins. He points one out to me, and demonstrates the rolling. In the end, he opts to put the IV near my left wrist. This is good in that it leaves me with most of my flexibility intact. It’s bad in that my shallow skinny wrist seems to provide less cushioning for the IV than the soft, flabby crook of my arm, meaning I can feel it more. Oh well.
5:21 p.m. The IV drip is started and as before, the process takes about 30 minutes. Another guy comes by when the machine starts to BEEP because I have absorbed a half hour’s worth of cool liquid into my veins. He removes the tube, caps the IV, then swaddles it in bandages. Unlike previous IVs, the swaddling isn’t so massive it looks like my arm has bisected a football. I am forced to wear my watch on my right wrist, and will spend the rest of the evening looking at my left wrist, wondering why my watch isn’t there.
5:56 p.m. I am finally released, nearly 7.5 hours later, with instructions to return at 3 p.m tomorrow for more IV therapy fun. I am very hungry and have to pee again.
Overall, a good test of my patience (hospital joke). I kind of hate my body now. But I do what I must.
When I got home, I ate pizza and kept looking at my left wrist to see what time it was.
And now, photos!
My view for much of the day. The gift shop (closed) is to my left.The CT scanner that scanned me, post-scan. Good ol’ CT2.This was my view for what felt like a hundred years. I eventally moved to the chair next to the bed.A new IV! A new location! Same old drugs.The first time in memory I didn’t have a tiny little hole where the blood was drawn. Ugly! And yes, there are two keyboards in the background.
But I’m going to rank them on various criteria, anyway, because this year I got to experience all three.
The CT scan happened in January, due to a kidney infection. The kidney is an organ you really don’t want to get infected.
The other two came about as a result of something found in the CT scan that was totally unrelated to the kidney infection1A 2cm mass of tissue which is hopefully benign, which the tests should help determine., with the MRI being in November and the PET scan just a few days ago, or December for people or AI bots reading/ingesting this in the future.
Quietest at probing your innards
Winner: PET scan. The machine makes noise, but it’s mostly hums and soft thunks and clicks. And a lot of the time it stays silent, making you wonder if it’s even on.
Noisiest at probing your innards
Winner: MRI. Not even close! The MRI rattles and roars, it buzzes and ka-chonks. It is noisy for most of the time you are inside it. No one will ever doze off while getting an MRI.
Runner-up: CT scan. This was kind of loud, too, but the relative brevity of the experience offsets it.
Most pleasant due to being short in duration
Winner: CT scan. It only lasted a few minutes, which isn’t so bad. I was still in a state of delirium due to a high fever when I had mine, though, so that may have helped.
Produces the strangest sensation
Winner: CT scan. I had an IV in me already to treat the kidney infection, but they also used it to inject a dye for the CT scan, to enhance the imagery. I was warned at one point it would feel like my bladder was power-evacuating all liquid. Which was accurate. It really did feel like I was peeing all over the place. But I was not. Modern medicine!
Easiest to endure
Winner: PET scan. All I had to do was literally lay there and breathe normally for 15-20 minutes, with nothing attached to me. Caveat: I did need an IV and a radioisotope injected into me beforehand, but that part is relatively benign, assuming your veins cooperate.
Worst preparation
Winner: PET scan. You have to fast, then you get an IV, then you have to sit (admittedly in a big, comfy chair) for an hour and do nothing while radiation spreads through your body. Only after this do you begin the actual procedure.
Most unpleasant overall
Winner: MRI. Again, not even close. For mine, I had an IV in my arm the whole time, I also had a camera strapped to my chest, earplugs and headphones on my head, and it went on longer than both the PET scan and CT scan combined. Also, the tube you lay inside is very small, so if you open your eyes, it feels like you are in some kind of curvy futuristic space coffin. You lay on a bed in a similar chamber with the PET scan, but it’s taller (and maybe wider), so it doesn’t feel like it’s closing in on you. You also get to move back and forth as they slide you in and out of the donut, which is almost fun. Nothing about the MRI is fun or fun-adjacent.
Runner-up: PET scan. Although the overall experience is pretty mild, I had to hold my arms stretched about my head the whole time, which gets uncomfortable about two-thirds of the way through.
Overall ranking
Finally, if you had to endure all three of these tests (you poor sap), from best to worst, here’s my ranking:
PET stands for Positron Emission Topography, which sounds both futuristic and maybe not something done on a human body, necessarily. But it is! And it would be done on my human body this morning.
Transit connections were unusually good, so I got to the lab early and filled out a form in Waiting Room 1. After this, I was directed to Waiting Room 2. I briefly wondered how many waiting rooms there would be (there are two). But even before 8 a.m. arrived, I was whisked off to what I will call The Chair Room. The central object in The Chair Room is, you may have guessed, a chair. Specifically, a large black easy chair, complete with cupholder. There is a reason it is a big comfy chair and that reason is you spend close to an hour sitting in it and being very still.
I knew the process because I’d read the email they sent beforehand, and despite fasting, I was not really hungry yet, though I was a tad thirsty. The first lab person showed up to insert the IV. This is now old school for me, after having IVs this year for a CT scan, an MRI and an ongoing one for 11 days (that had to be replaced partway through) when dealing with the kidney infection in January. I was nonplussed and told her she could use the left arm.
If you’ve never had an IV before, the process usually takes a few seconds. If it takes longer, something has gone wrong.
It was taking more than a few seconds. There was pain, but more like an annoying sting. She worked on that left arm for what felt like about a minute. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but remember, this is with a sharp needle being repeatedly worked into your flesh.
She finally gave up and switched to the right arm. The IV was inserted in a few seconds. Apparently, the selected vein in my left arm was big and strong, but also had a tendency to “roll” when she attempted to get the IV into it. Those pesky veins always causing trouble.
My blood sugar was measured, because if it’s 11 or higher, it complicates things. Mine was 5.6, which is well below their threshold and also a little below the regular threshold of pre-diabetic (my blood sugar has always skewed high for some reason. Maybe I’m just a really sweet guy).
Next was waiting. I am unsure why, but at this point I was left in the room with the IV inserted and had to wait for about 15 minutes.
Another tech showed up to administer the radioisotope tracer (nuclear medicine!) I believe it was Fluorodeoxyglucose, which is used when trying to detect cancer. It took about 30 seconds to go through the IV. Interestingly, once the drip started, the tech stepped out of the room and stood by the doorway until it was complete. I was now radioactive and would be for about the next 12 hours. I was warned I would feel a cold sensation in my arm as the nuclear juice was delivered, and I did, but the sensation was pretty mild.
The next part was the real waiting. I was to sit still and let the tracer work its way through my body. I was told to stay still and move as little as possible. I asked if I could read. That got a frowny face, so I was left with the lights dimmed, alone with my own thoughts.
Time passed quicker than expected, but that’s because about 15 minutes before the final part, yet another tech showed up and directed me to the washroom, to pee. I did so. Then I sat back in the chair in The Chair Room. Roughly an hour and a half after starting, the first tech returned and took me to the PET room.
The scanner looked pretty much exactly like the one in the Wikipedia article, except with me in it:
It looks like a 3D rendered model in person, too.
I doffed my cap, watch and glasses and laid down on the bed. I was told it would take around 15–20 minutes and there would be some noise. My legs were propped up and, somewhat annoyingly, I had to hold my arms above my head, like I was being put on a rack. This is not the most comfortable position to hold for 15–20 minutes.
After being told to breathe normally, the bed slid in, the machine lit up, hummed, and started doing its thing. It moved me back and forth a few times and at one point, near the end, my head was mostly sticking out the back end and nothing seemed to be happening, but I assumed it was. Then, just as I was getting close to asking if something had broken down, the bed moved me fully back under the donut for the last few minutes.
Overall, the experience was not pleasant, but it was pleasant compared to the MRI. The tube did not feel claustrophobic at all, the noises the machine made were mostly soft hums and gentle thunks. Occasionally, it would light up brightly, but the light was soft, like “Walk into the light” light. I didn’t have anything annoyingly attached to me, like a camera or IV. And it ended before my arms cramped up.
I felt a little lightheaded after, but that was probably more from being hungry than anything.
I celebrated getting through the PET scan by having an Egg McMuffin. Not there, at the lab, though that would have been extremely convenient, but at a nearby McDonald’s. I tried to avoid pregnant women and children after leaving the lab, which I was advised to do for about six hours. As I type this, I am confident there are no pregnant women or children in imminent danger of getting irradiated by my presence.
I will have the results in about five business days.
Next up: I rate CT scans, MRIs and PET scans on various criteria. Find out which wins each category. Coming Soon™.
Today, the cavalcade of medical fun that has characterized 2025 for me continued, with my first ever PFT.
It’s basically 20 minutes of breathing in various ways and will probably be the most innocuous medical test I’ll ever undergo. It did leave me a little lightheaded, though.
I made my way to Vancouver General Hospital and found that I was very early for my appointment. I figured this was a sign that I wouldn’t be able to find Section 3 easily and would need the extra time to navigate. I was somewhat right.
When I did find Section 3 (a nice shade of green, not hospital green), I was still about half an hour early. I filled out a form and then amused myself in the waiting room with my own thoughts, since cell phone use is forbidden in this particular part of the hospital. It’s also one level underground and concrete, so reception may have been dicey, anyway.
While I waited, an older man went to the reception desk. The woman there carefully explained that he didn’t need to be there, as it is his wife who is being looked at for something. She said his wife would get a call tomorrow. He nodded, then headed off.
And returned, where she explained all of this again. He again headed off. But there was something about his gait that, as the kids would say, seemed a little suss.
You guessed it–he returned a third time. She was very patient with this not-patient. He finally shuffled off for good. Or for at least as long as I was there.
A very short woman with tall pants came out about 15 minutes before my appointment–yay–and brought me into a small exam room. In the corner was a glass booth with a seat and some apparatus at about mouth level. She asked for my height and weight and I sat in the booth, with the door open. She put a pair of plugs on my nose and had me test the mouthpiece (kind of like a fixed snorkel) to make sure it was positioned correctly. We began.
The setup looked a lot like this image I found. The mouthpiece is apparently part of a thingie called a spirometer. Fortunately, I didn’t have to hold the mouthpiece like this guy, who, yes, I’m going to say it, totally looks like he’s practising a blow job.
For the testing, I would breathe normally, or at least as normally as I could with my nose clipped shut and my mouth wrapped around a snorkel thing. Then she would tell me to breathe in deeply. She would accentuate this by saying, in a very excited tone, “Breathe in! Up UP UP UP UP!” until it was time to breathe out (sharply). She would switch to, “Out out OUT OUT OUT OUT!” past the point that seemed reasonable to me, but I am not a breathologist. I coughed on one of the first extreme exhalations and swallowed some spit. She asked if I needed water. I said no. I surprised myself by being right.
There were also a few times she had me suck in some sort of spray stuff that can affect your breathing. It was relatively flavorless. I’m glad I don’t have to use inhalers.
After the first few minutes, she declared the plugs inadequate and swapped them out for ones that clamped more firmly. I wasn’t sure I liked the new plugs.
A few of the tests required me to breathe in deeply, hold my breath, then exhale. These required the door of the glass booth to be closed. Because it is glass, I didn’t feel claustrophobic, more like a bizarre modern art exhibit, like “Man’s struggle with technology” or something. The mouthpiece I sucked on would become interactive during these tests, sending a weird pop of air at my mouth at the end, as if to say, “That’s enough!”
I had to redo a few of the tests because I wasn’t quite hitting the mark on a few of them, like a diva missing the high notes of an aria. The testing lady was very understanding. It still went fairly quickly. She ended it by saying I was done and just left. I also left and she reminded me to take my bag, which I then went back for. I got the feeling this was someone who missed no detail.
The whole experience was odd, everything about it felt unnatural, skirting right on the edge of being actively unpleasant without ever crossing it.
As mentioned, I felt a little lightheaded, but that was all. Still, I won’t be sad if I never have another PFT. Pfft to PFT, one might say.
The good news, such as it is, is that my weight didn’t budge from the beginning of the month to the end.
The bad news, of course, is that I was up over 3 pounds the previous month, which means I am still effectively up. I was trending back down for the first half of November, but I sought retreat in the comfort of food (mmm, food) in the second half, as stress took its toll on me, and a kind of ennui crept in. I think I’ve shaken most of it off now, but looking ahead, December is not historically known as a slimming month.
And I really want some shortbread cookies.
Still, despite standing still, some encouraging signs:
Body fat actually declined
BMI (a stat some view as a bit dubious, admittedly) did not change
Muscle mass climbed a tiny bit, which is fine, because I don’t expect it to ever move much, but up is always better than down
For December, I vow to remain donut-free, but my (lofty?) goal of hitting 150 pounds this year is not going to happen unless I spontaneously have liposuction and plenty of it. But if I can at least be down in weight for the year, I will build on that in 2026, The Year That Has To Be Better Than 2025.
Stats:
January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds
Current: 166.2 pounds Year to date: Down 0.6 pounds
November 1: 166.2 pounds November 30: 166.2 pounds (unchanged)
Body fat: November 1: 24.7% November 30: 23.4 (down 1.3%)
Skeletal muscle mass: November 1: 29.6 kg November 30: 29.6 kg (up 0.3 kg)
BMI: November 1: 23.8 November 30: 23.8 (unchanged)
This morning, as I went through my usual routines, it occurred to me that I might be in a funk. It’s funny how these things sneak up on you. It’s like being in a store and realizing they are playing Christmas music, then running, screaming, from the store.
Well, maybe not quite like that.
I’m no funkologist and my self-diagnosis could be off, but I think it’s a combo of factors:
Stress from various sources has been accruing.
My diet (re: snacking) has deteriorated as I seek comfort in delicious calories.
The urge to pursue creative stuff (drawing, writing–such as on this blog) has waned in favour of more passive pursuits–not exactly doomscrolling, but maybe things adjacent to that.
I have missed a few runs due to circumstances, but yesterday I just did not go. This is probably the biggest warning sign. Running is a very Zen pursuit for me, so deliberately avoiding it is a good signal that something is amiss1Not counting not wanting to run in torrential rain, which has happened a few times lately.
I don’t think I can pin the start on any one thing, but perhaps a tipping point may have been when I chatted with the cardiothoracic surgeon and got confirmation that surgery is in my future, barring some imminent breakthrough in medical technology. I think it has rattled me, because it’s made me start going through various “What if?” scenarios where the harmless little blob to be removed may be less than harmless. Or more broadly, it’s possibly set off subconscious thoughts about mortality in general. I’m not sure. The brain is a strange place.
But being aware is the start of making changes for the better, so here I am writing, even if it’s just to acknowledge the thing, hopefully with more helpful changes to come. And I promise not to buy Pop-Tarts, even if they are on sale.
Yesterday I had an appointment at VGH1Vancouver General Hospital with a cardiothoracic surgeon, a title I did not know existed until the appointment was made by my family doctor.
We have to go back slightly over one year (and in reality, even further back than that to some unknown time) to trace up to yesterday’s visit to the above-mentioned surgeon.
In December 2024 I experienced what seemed like a prostate infection and was treated as such. For a time, the antibiotics worked, then they very much stopped working. I had blood work done and was re-diagnosed as having a bladder infection and took more antibiotics.
In January, the antibiotics stopped working again. I ended up at the ER of Burnaby Hospital early in the morning, in a state of mild delirium brought on by fever. This time the big guns came out…more blood work, of course, but also a CT scan.
The infection had spread to my kidneys, which required antibiotics delivered by IV (which lasted for 11 days), and the good news there is that the treatment ended my infection story for 2024/2025–unless something happens in the next month.
But the CT scan also revealed something unexpected–a small mass near the top of my chest, just over 2cm in diameter. My family doctor did not think it was serious, so ordered an MRI on a low priority basis. It took 10 months to happen, as noted here.
Ironically, the MRI was inconclusive.
But that catches us up to yesterday, in which the surgeon told me:
More blood work will be done, to detect for markers that would indicate if the mass is cancerous. The surgeon doesn’t think so, but wants to be sure.
I will get another CT scan, at VGH or possibly UBC, due to the MRI being inconclusive.
Another test will be done at a cancer clinic that may take a while before it gets scheduled. He used words I’d never heard before, I may go back to ask for more details on this.
Surgery! The S word!
He explained a couple of things regarding the surgery:
Cancer is not malignant or benign, but exists on a spectrum. He thinks the lump I have falls on the benign side, but could still cause issues.
Asking nicely will not make it leave (OK, he didn’t say this, but I was thinking it)
He described the old-style surgery: cutting open the sternum (breastbone) and yoinking it out. While cutting open the sternum is not dangerous, it does make for a more complicated procedure and recovery.
He then described the new-style surgery:
Going in through the side–no bone-sawing needed!
Surgery time: 2-3 hours
Recovery in hospital: Typically a few days
Recovery at home after: About two weeks
After recovery, all regular activities can be resumed
I am not keen on getting surgery–it will be a first for me–but if it’s gotta be done, it’s gotta be done. For now I await the sheet for the next round of blood work.
Between getting blood taken and various IVs, I have probably been stabbed at least 8-10 times this year, with more to come. I would not have predicted this a year ago, and if I had such powers of prediction, I would have picked winning lottery numbers instead.
Here’s to 2026 being The Year In Which My Health Is Very Boring And Normal.
Yes, it looks bad, like I’ve been secretly eating donuts. But I have remained donut-free.
What happened is: Bodies are weird, and I gained two pounds in the last two days. Has my diet (as in eating regime, not a fad diet) gone off the rails? No, but these things happen, anyway.
Bad: Body fat is over 25% again (I have not remained 100% snack-free)
Good: Muscle mass is up! Probably entirely in my calves, my very sexy calves.
I think I can still get below 160 pounds before the end of the year. I won’t have long to find out!
January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds
Current: 165.8 pounds Year to date: Down 1.0 pounds
October 1: 162.7 pounds October 31: 165.8 pounds (up 3.1 pounds)
Body fat: October 1: 24.5% October 31: 25.3% (up 0.8%)
Skeletal muscle mass: October 1: 29.2 kg October 31: 29.5 kg (up 0.3 kg)
Two years ago, I got a combo flu/COVID-19 shot (two separate shots, just given at the same appointment). It went without incident, and I had an extra layer of protection through the flu season. Nice, I thought.
Last year I kept rescheduling the shots for reasons, then I got an infection (that wandered) and that distracted me, so I never did get vaccinated for that flu season.
We move forward to May 21st of this year, when I apparently caught a bug from my partner, resulting in me barfing copiously one memorable evening. I wondered afterward how I would have been hit if I had been properly vaccinated.
This month, when I got the reminder to get vaccinated from the provincial government, I booked an appointment as soon as I could and as I type this now I have two little round band-aids on my left arm from the shots.
I like to think I will never stop learning, even if I live to be 150 or a head in a jar, whichever comes first. And today, I demonstrated that all it takes for me is a gentle reminder in the form of remembering what it was like to spend a night violently emptying the contents of my stomach.
I got vaccinated. You should, too!
Also, this gives me another chance to show one of my favourite ill-conceived ads for flu prevention:
These are thoughts I had today while out on a walk. It is mild out and we are between showers. I’ve been thinking about how the world at both the macro and micro levels are somewhat of a dumpster fire, and how that makes me angry. But I need to recognize that anger and do things to channel it productively. And I will, starting with this post by writing the thought out.
***
Also, here is my MRI update:
I got a call from the doctor today (phone appointment) and correctly predicted a few things:
The MRI would be inconclusive (it was)
Further testing would be needed (it is)
Said tests might include a biopsy (this was mentioned)
What the doc confirmed:
The mass in my chest (about 2 cm around) is not affecting anything else around it
It has not changed size since the CT scan back on (checks blog entry) January 9th
It could be a tumour (cue Arnold saying, “It’s not a too-mah!”)
If a tumour, it could be cancer (benign or otherwise)
I am not overly concerned, because I had recent blood work that came back negative, this lump has not grown, nor has it had any impact. But you never know, and that’s what makes our bodies so mysterious and magical.
Next up:
Another CT scan
Consultation with a thoracic surgeon to see what they think
Possibly a biopsy, depending on the above
Ice cream. I’ll need ice cream at the end of this.
In conclusion: Our meatbag bodies are kind of dumb. Here’s a nice fall photo:
My McVeggie burger did not radiate or glow (to my knowledge).
The obvious question from readers would be: Why? And my answer would be to see what magic McDonald’s could work on a “healthy” burger option.
My own question, though, is different. How can a McVeggie burger have only 10 fewer calories than a McChicken? Observe:
McChicken: 480 calories
McVeggie: 470 calories
Filet-o-Fish: 400 calories
And keep in mind, 90% of the calories in the Filet-o-Fish come from the giant blob of tartar sauce they put on each one, and it’s still 70 calories less.
Given that this is not the calorie-friendly delight you might hope for (it was slathered in the same volume of mayo as a McChicken), how did it taste?
It tasted fine. I think the spicy variant might be better, because it’s probably not hot, but may add a little more kick to it. As it is, it was OK and given the high calorie count, I’d only opt for this if I swore off being a meat-loving hedonist. Next time I’ll go for a Sausage and Egg McMuffin (440 calories). In the meantime, I ponder the market for a healthy option that is nearly 500 calories.
