The secret of being a bore… is to tell everything.
And yet, there I go. This is my blog, which no one reads, so I can go bonkers.
During a short hiatus, we (this is not a royal “We”, this “we” is actually we—my wife and I; I am not allowed to meet alone with the people who gave the Hippocratic Oath, for it is evident to everyone—but me—that I am chronically unable to understand them correctly) met with the team, treating me—A.K.A., The Mandarin Factory—several times.
At the first of these meetings (the negotiations with the pharmaceutical company that develops the immunotherapeutic drug my doctor decided to try on me since my current chemo cocktail was doing a much better job on the host than my Cancer Al tenant/pet, were at that time not yet complete) my doctor looked at the results of my blood test and became noticeably confused.
“Have you had a blood transfusion?” he asked, “I do not recall ordering one for you…”
He checked my file. I had not had a blood transfusion.
“But your numbers are within or even better than normal, how is this possible?”
I had no choice but to confess.