In short, on Tuesday, I will be going to see a woman who I perceive as being something of a witch doctor.
She uses acupuncture methodologies during her diagnoses, and I have a two hour appointment with her.
Fortunately, my parents are offering to foot the bill, seeing as I doubt my insurance would have any truck with Ph.D nutritionists attempting to diagnose what supposedly was a problem to be cleared up by routine surgery.
What will be the outcome of my visit with Ugga Mugga the Witch Doctor? I don't know. I do know that I was able to pull myself together for long enough to discuss with her some of the ailment's background and the surgery, and hardly cried at all.
That, these days, is a triumph indeed.
And as we all know, the most important detail in life-threatening medical situations, after you've been crying, is to make sure your mascara isn't running. Never fear, dear reader: my mascara is still firmly in place.