I woke up at around 8.30 yesterday to go to my oncologist's appointment.  It was time to examine my xrays and the like and see if I had cancer.  Rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes and drove down to Lankenau hospital.  My mom works there and I had her pull my xrays so that I could bring them to my doctor. 

Walking down the halls there I could only think about Star.  She was there with me for every doctor's appointment, worrying about me while trying to not look worried.  I walked hallways that we walked togather, used an elevator that we had kissed rather pationately in when no one else was in it, and went into my mother's office where she and Star had talked nervously. 

I went up to the window into my mom's office and said "hey" to her.  She smiled and we talked for a minute, then went off for the xrays.  One of her coworkers smiled at me and said in a friendly manner "How are you?"  Oh, how I've grown to hate that question. 

Xrays in hand and it was time to be late to my doctor's appointment.  That was okay, as they would make me wait nearly an hour in the waiting room, and then another half-hour in his examination room.  And that's even with me calling ahead of time to tell them that I would be late. 

While in the exam room I was interviewed by a med student by the name of Rose.  She was young, slender, tall, with auburn hair and autumn coloured clothing.  She would ask me questions about my health, my family history, where it hurts.  I couldn't stop staring at the engagement ring on her finger.  It's strange, I'm made very happy by the relationships that my friends are in, but when I see strangers holding hands I want to pummell them. 

The doctor came walking in after a while.  Scruffy, burly, mid-forties.  He was wearing pointed italian shoes with silver buckles on the sides.  He asked a couple more questions, digging deeper on my condition.  Then we talked about bone scans, MRIs, and cancer.  Cancer that I do not have.  Though he does want to get an MRI done on a trouble spot, he saw no sign of cancer. 

I walked out to my car after that.  The rain was splashing down in puddles collected on the asphalt, and two buildings away was Star's office, just off to the left.  I walked up to my car and growled and kicked it.  Probably not the appropriate response to "You don't have cancer".  I just can't really get excited about being healthy. 

One of my doctors calls me up earlier today.

"Can I speak with Michael, please?"

"This is him."

"Your brace is all finished and you can come by any time to pick it up."

Oh yeah, I almost forgot.  Real life things are still happening. 

So now I have my ankle brace.  It's a big, black leather doohickey that looks like a boot with the toes chopped off.  When I was first told that I had to have one made, Star and i researched them online.  She got particularly excited about them because, not only would I hurt less, but I would have something on my leg with a bunch of straps and laces.  She compared it quite-favourably to a corset.  I think that she was acting, by and large, to make me feel a little bit better about having a gigantic fucking brace on my ankle.  I do also think though that there was a small part of her genuinely excited about the brace and how cool it looked. 

Sadly, the brace requires that I wear different shoes.  Something that people call "sneakers".  I swung by Pay Less on my way around and picked up a pair that would fit over my gigantyic fucking brace.  It's been a long time since I've worn sneakers and I have to admit thata they feel weird.  I don't really feel like I'm wearing much of anything on my feet.  I'm afraid that I'm going to step on something and have it pierce through my foot in some way.  Then again, I've worn the same pair of steel-toe-and-soled engineers boots for the past two years.