This Little Piggy Cried...

Two weeks ago I got some important news. It's extra special news because something out of the ordinary happened. Not "out of the ordinary" like Chad Vader paying me a surprise visit - although before today I would've put my money on the visit rather than on what actually happened.

The last time I saw my neurologist, he said, as a last resort to find out what's wrong with my feet, we'd apply for a biopsy. This is strange because in Canada, he said, you can't get specific skin biopsies. They're done in the U.S. and since our government is footing the bill, it has to approve each and every biopsy.

We filled out the necessary paperwork, and as I left he told me not to get my hopes up because less than one percent of biopsies get approved.

Then two weeks ago happened.

My biopsy was approved and today I went to the hospital for the procedure. It started with me putting on a gown, followed by me laying on a bed.

My neurologist froze my right ankle and thigh. The needle burned, but within seconds I was numbed. He cut and snipped out the samples which he then placed in special containers packed with frozen water for their trip to the U.S. lab.

As he sewed up my surprisingly bloody wounds with the silk thread, I mentioned I had never had stitches before. Surprised, he asked me, "never?"

I proudly replied that I had never had stitches, nor broken any bones, which prompted him to explain the stitch-removification procedure I had to do on day five.

For the next few hours things were normal. I finished up at work, came home, ate dinner, and went upstairs to change. But it was more than just my clothes that got changed in that bedroom. The status of my skeletal structure also changed... as I smashed my foot so hard against the leg of the bed that I broke my first bone, one of the little piggies.