Well, maybe not stunning, but I'm reeling like I'm a bit stunned, so it's close enough for me.

Went to the referred ENT specialist whose office is full, FULL of tick-tock clocks, most having either chimes or cuckoos. My mom came in for the consult and we met my new, albeit wacky, ENT who has an exam room full of plastic heads and inner ear models. Don't worry--there were more clocks. I don't know if he's trying to make a subconscious point about the passage of time (he's also a plastic--excuse me, cosmetic--surgeon) but it's in odd counterpoint to the wailing Beatles on the radio. This man is indescribible, but I'll give it a go: medium height, wavy salt & pepper held in place by an ever-present headlamp at a drunken angle (the actual light, not the velcro halo attaching it to his head), big glasses, sandy poofy mustache with yellowing teeth, abstract fish tie, argyle socks, brown clogs, a huge silver belt buckle, a jade ring the size of (real) teacup, a huge silver ID bracelet, and kind eyes. He reminded me of a shaggy Alton Brown. However, I can't deny he knows his stuff, so I was happy to meet him and put my odd and lumpy mass in his hands, so to speak.

After an exam which included sticking a metal rod up/down each nostril (very very odd, I hope to never relive that experience but am fascinated by the actuality of it) and shooting my poor nose full of some vapor, he sat back and told me that I wasn't dying, not even close, but it was time to carve me open and take some time off work.

So it's a date. May 25, it's me and the surgical team at NMH. I'm waiting to do it after London since it's not terribly urgent, being a non-malignant mass and all. It's a parotid mass, which means the little tail at the bottom of this major saliva gland has gone insane and is now a round ball of oddness. They'll take out the bad part of the parotid, sew me back up, and send me home after a night of beeping machinery and squeaky nurse shoes. The good news: the aforementioned cosmetic surgeon aspect, so if he screws up sewing me back together, he can fix it. FOR FREE.

(My emphasis, not his.)

The surgery sounds pretty cool--I made him describe the entire thing for me, in detail. Mayo Clinic gives info, but not *that* much info.

So there you have it, my wild attempts to wrest the family attention back to me now that my sister's engagement has eaten all conversation.
Just kidding. I just wanted to make my insurance cry and have a legitimate reason to sit around and watch movies.