Signs.

Coney Island Hot Dogs. Don't they make you think of internal organs? No?

Since this is sometimes a blog about thyroid cancer, I will confess that my most recent check-up was really bothering me. I didn't realize it, of course, until it was too late. I scheduled this routine follow-up ultrasound appointment six months ago, put it on my calendar, and watched it approach. No big deal. This cancer almost never comes back.

But I somehow worked myself into a frenzy before the appointment. To add to the fun frenzy feeling, I was of course running late. And the car was in poor repair. Plus I'd just had a hard week at work (apparently I can't do "whatever I want", management approval is required. The golden girl has left the pedestal.). So, I was driving through Parchment, frantically looking for a sign that things would be all right.

And there was LITERALLY a sign. It said, "I love you. - God". One of those infernal, cheesy, horrible church signs that all the cool kids mock. Okay, I thought. That was ridiculous. (I don't believe in the Old Man in the Robe "God" anyway, but I'm cool with the "universe" or "everything is god" god.) There's got to be another sign.

The next sign said "Sunny Burns." Might have been an accountant or lawyer. I'm not exactly certain I read it correctly, but it made me laugh anyway. Because Sunny Burns and Sandy Bottoms are the denizens of the beach. The beach where I've had the best times with friends. My friends that I love.

So, I made it to the appointment, rolling on love. The doctor declared my lymph nodes "beautiful", then apologized for getting so excited. (They were pretty cool looking on the ultrasound, but they didn't really look like hot dogs. I just like that picture.) I walked out into the unseasonably beautiful spring day and tried to relax.