Obsolescence

I learned a new word today at work.  A variation of the word obsolete.  I never thought that work, of all places, is where I would learn something like this, but alas.  I've been schooled.

A line of machinery had been discontinued and as such the parts for that implement are no longer of any value, except (likely) what can be collected via scrap.  A HUGE waste of money, overall, if you ask me.  I mean, why produce an excess of the parts needed for the production of the original line?  Needless to say, there be a f*ck load of shit that needs to be scrapped over the coming weeks.

However, I digress.  Complaining about the stupidity of the higher ups is not my intent for this little blog, today.  To report on the idiocy of the bureaucrats at work would be about as informative as announcing: Water is wet!  No kidding?  Thank you Capt. Obvious!

Obsolescence be thy word.  All day long, I saw it posted on a couple of crates, collected to begin heaping hoards of obsolete parts into for recycling and otherwise.  The word seems so simple, yet complex at the same time.  The more that I repeated the word over in my head, the more the word made me smile and chuckle to myself.  For the word, in and of itself, does not sound like what it actually means.   

The word obsolescence, to me, sounds instead like a virus.  A disease you'd get as a result of eating too much red meat.  I thought tomato-based products at first, as this always makes me race for the bathroom, but red meat can be all the more destructive, if allowed.

"Oh boy!  I shouldn't have gone to Rodney's barbecue and ate all the rare beef.  Now I have a scorching case of Obsolescence.  I can't stray more than a few feet from the toilet before racing back to evacuate my bowels."

Yes.  That's right!  To me, obsolescence sounds like a viral infection that causes you to shit streams of gooey ungodliness.  The kind of unruly turmoil that results in using over half of a roll of ultra-soft toilet paper in hopes of soothing a burning aching backside.  Definitely a double-flusher.

Obsolescence...

A Brilliant Disguise

"We've found something on your scan.  It's an anomaly, of sorts." the doctor told me in a soothing tone.  "We're not certain what it is, exactly."

I was taken aback by the news. 

I'd been under the weather for sometime.  Stricken with pneumonia, to a degree that I'd not felt in a very long time.  So much that it actually hurt to breathe, not to mention the sharp pains, like shards of glass cutting into my chest whenever I'd hack and cough.  These pains are what had me concerned.  The "anomalies" discover in my CT Scan, were the likely cause of this discomfort.

"It might just be a result of your pneumonia.  We'll wait a couple weeks and do another test."  

A couple weeks later, I found myself back in the doctor's office, discussing the results of a second CT Scan.  "The black masses are still there.  They may be in relation to your pneumonia, but it might be beneficial to do a biopsy."

I opted, instead, to wait.  A biopsy would take me out of work for six to eight weeks, as there'd be a chance of infection during the recuperative stage.  This was a break that I would be unable to afford financially.  The doctor reassured me that we could wait eight weeks for another CT Scan, as it would be unlikely that the masses found in my chest scans would grow much further than what they were, which was described to me as roughly the size of a 25 cent piece.  She [my doctor] acted as if this wasn't very big, but holding a quarter up to my chest, this seems like a gargantuan size of anything foreign in one's lung.  Call me f*cking crazy. 

Eight weeks passed by in a flash, but the whole time I had this terrible weight on my mind, haunting my every thought.  I never bothered to share my news with anyone, except my employers, believing that if there was a chance that I'd suddenly be rushed into surgery of some sort, I didn't want it to come as a surprise to them.  I may have mentioned in passing to my mother, too, but without going into any depth or detail.  My family is the sort that would turn on me and give me that whole "I Told You So" speech.  I can hear my sister spouting off her motherly advice of "If you didn't drink so much pop, you wouldn't be in this situation."  As if drinking an extra bottle of diet soda is going to affect my breathing.

Of course, bearing such silence does weigh heavy on a person.  I envy anyone who has a partner or a friend that they can lean on for emotional support.  At the same time, I hate being a burden on people.  I did break down and tell one other friend, if my memory is correct.  He did express concern for my well being, which was nice, but I never shared the bitter details of what was racing through my mind.

I truly believe that possessing a positive outlook and good attitude can thwart any illness 90 percent of the time (or higher).  This is what I did.  On the outside, I continued to be as bright-eyed and smiley-faced as I could, despite the tirade that brewing inside my head.  I knew that I didn't have cancer, and believed as much then as I do now, that if I DID have cancer, that I'd beat it.  No sweat.  Hands down.  I'd look Death straight in the face, wag my finger at him and tell him to "F*ck off!!"   Just like a clown, though, what you see on the outside, doesn't always reflect what's on the inside.

It's been a few weeks since that CT Scan, at which time, I was scheduled for another CT this week.  I contacted the doctor early, about two weeks ago.  I was suffering tremendous pain when I breathed, let alone if I coughed.  My concerns grew ten fold.  My concerns were met in turn with the doctor who upped my appointment.  I went in for another scan and the next day I found myself in her office.

The anomalies or masses or whatever the hell is on my lung, is still there, to a degree, but have shrunk some.  They're suspected to be just scar tissue now, which lends to why I'm experiencing discomfort when I breathe.  Unfortunately, I think this is going to be an ongoing attribute for the remainder of my life.  Just like my knees hurting and the increase of migraines when it gets to cooler temperatures, so will my breathing begin to hurt.  As much as I rock, sometimes it sucks to be me.

So why do I choose to write this entry today?  It's something my sister told me on the weekend.  She told me: Some people have it rough, you should just be happy you have it so good.  I just shook my head.  Knowing what I know, she doesn't have a f*cking clue, what my life is like.

I remember watching some MTV show a few years back, where they'd showcase a celebrity.  The tagline to the show was "You think you know, but you have no idea."  So the next time you share a laugh with someone, take a moment to wonder.  Are they happy?  Or is that just a brilliant disguise.