My gastroenterologist is out of the office so there will be no emergency of any kind, unless I grow scales and non-flight capable wings and get all reptilian and swoop down on the peasants in the next village and breathe fire all over them. So I sit and wait for the possibility of absolutely nothing happening of any substance over the weekend.
As if having a potentially fatal cancer isn't enough for me to think about, now I get to be concerned about a surgically implanted stretched spring possibly going awry in my innards. Thrill a minute around here I'll tell you.
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