roulette

Can you tell?

Is it a boy?

Is it a girl?

I have something growing inside me!

Its 1.6 centimeters, which isn't terribly large, but apparently when you have something roughly the size of a thumbnail on something roughly the size of a kiwi its a big deal.

Congratulations! It's gallstones, but it's not unlike being pregnant. The biggest one is like an alien growing inside me. I got to have an ultrasound. Its a gamble every time I eat something - maybe things will work out, or maybe it will be barf-tastic.

I'm not a gambler. I was raised in one of those houses where cards were of the Devil. I don't even know how to play Solitaire. (I just had to Google how to spell Solitaire because I didn't even know how to spell it.) So I'm going to let modern medicine handle this one.

Unlike the Pastor who is being completely psychotic about a mole on the back of his leg. Foregoing Western Medicine, and not asking Jesus to heal him, he is trying to rid himself of this mole. With wart remover. Only due to the God-given placement of the mole, he cannot reach it himself, hence the flaw in his cure.

He has to rely on me.

He'd be better off asking Jesus.

The daily mole healing involves him barking at me, much like a neurosurgeon scolding a nurse, except his is admonishing me on how to properly apply a band-aid he has, I promise you, punched a hole out of with my hole puncher, and apply Dr. Scholl's wart remover. Don't some moles turn out to be skin cancer? Am I wrong here? Is it safe to treat something that could someday in the teeniest tiniest realm of possibility turn out to be cancer with anything made by Dr. Scholl's, the same brand name that's on my Paul Frank shoes?

I know what this is all about. I've seen this type of male behavior before. Men are prone to this sort of thing. The Pastor is very competitive and I'm sure at some level he had to find something to make a big deal about - his mole - in order to compete with my gallstones.

But I don't care. I have fantastic news! The numbers I've been seeing on the scale. Completely opposite of pregnancy. What's a little acute abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting when you can be really thin? My clothes have never fit better. But maybe the weight loss isn't gallbladder related. Maybe its just the stress of the Pastor coming home, his little piles of stuff all over the house (which I'm sure if a neurosurgeon could look into his brain would tell me he has little piles of chaos going on in there to match) and the stress of having to deal with his mole.

Wish me luck. With the mole, that is. I'm sure my surgery will be a piece of cake. The kind I can temporarily not eat.