Still no answers

Either my doctor really is worried about my "fever of unknown origin" or he's practicing voodoo on me illegally.

I got sent for MORE bloodwork. He's testing for more specific ailments now. We had a nice long chat in the office on Friday. He pretty much told me that he's thinking two things right now: it's possible that I either have rheumatoid arthritis or that I'm just plain weird.

No joke. He actually phrased it by saying, "Well, we know you're weird. This just might be more proof." Gotta love a doctor with a sense of humor.

In addition to a funny bone, my family physician also has a keen fashion sense. I own the footwear pictured in black. I had those shoes on when at the office. He was checking, ostensibly, for swollen lymph nodes in my lower legs when he stopped and said, "those are really cute shoes."

Totally deadpan. Which is not surprising if you know my doctor. To say his delivery is typically dry is an understatement. Who knew that a snazzy pair of Rocket Dogs would liven him up so?

He followed the cute shoes comment up with, "I've never noticed before that you have incredibly small feet. Seriously. What size shoes do you wear?"

All I could think was that I'd wound up in the Twilight Zone somehow. I'm at my quiet-as-a-church-mouse doctor's office for a disease with no symptoms whatsoever. A sizeable percentage of our conversation ends up being about my little feet with fancy shoes, not the underlying illness that, so far, has necessitated multiple diagnostic tests and trips to be physically examined by every doctor in the practice. (There are only two, by the way, but that sentence sounded more dramatic than if I'd said "both doctors in the practice." It's my blog. I can be dramatic if I want.)

Before I sign off, I want to wish the very best of luck to my bud Leslie... She's one of the approximately 4.2 people who actually read this sorry blog and she got a very fancy pants job with the Billy Graham Evangelical Association this week. It's the American Cancer Society's loss, but she is, after all, going to work for God. (Leslie -- I should tell you that my brother-in-law, when I was pondering my offer from the ACS a few years ago, likened working for the Society to working for God Himself. Now you'll be able to tell me if that's true or not.)