I have a bible bump.

For the last week or so, I'd been noticing a weird sort of irritation around the back of my left wrist. Then, on Tuesday, I just happened to look down at it and was shocked to find I have a weird lump on it.

I called the doctor to make an appointment. Well, I called the appointment lady (Kaiser patients call the appointment line. No talky to your doctor's office.) And she said he wasn't available until next week but that she could have them call me. To try to give me one of the slots reserved for "urgent" cases. I said, all brave and stoic, "Oh, no, no. This thing doesn't hurt, really. It's just sort of agitating. Let's just do it next week. Monday will be fine."

How I've suffered. The wait. The anxiety. The WTF?? of it all....

It's so weird to see a lump on your body. And it's sad but true that "lump" is synonymous with "cancer" in my mind. So, I've just been staring at it for three days, thinking, what if I've got a rare wrist cancer? Cancer of the wrist. That'd be so lame.

Today, it finally occurred to me to Google "lump on wrist." And wouldn't you know it? From the looks of things, I have something called a ganglion cyst, a.k.a "bible bump," a.k.a. "Gideon's disease." It's a fluid-filled sac that builds up (different theories on why) and appears mostly on the backs of wrists. Mine isn't as big as the one pictured in the wikipedia entry, but it's totally noticeable. In the not-so-distant past, a common remedy for these cysts was to slam a heavy book down on them to pop them. So, people thought, "Hmmmm... I need a heavy book. Nooo... not the 'Joy of Cooking'... no, not the L-M volume of the encyclopedia... Oh! Here we go. The Word of God. Perfect." Not only is that insane, it's also creepy to think this thing could pop. Gross.

I'm so totally grossed out by my bible bump.

Um. It's happening.

That thing where I fight a little against getting older.

I just spent ten minutes fishing through the hair on my temples for silver hairs and then carefully separating them from the darker herd and mercilessly plucking them out of my scalp.

I used to say to people complaining about their grey hairs, "I think I'm going to like when my hair starts to go grey. I'll finally have some character. I hate that I have such a babyface." How did I not get slapped?? I was delusional and smarmy. Seriously. How do I have any friends at all?

Eight little silver hairs met their deaths tonight. But the follicles will live to push new ones out into the world. I will either stop plucking or begin spending money on hair dye.

Which will it be? Only time will tell.