Well, fuck.

I have cancer.

I'm saying it, "CAN-SAAAAHHH", the way Tim Curry would if he were here, and in character as Dr. Frankenfurter.

It's polymorphous adenocarcinoma, a tumor of the minor salivary glands. Don't bother to Google it; it's rare enough that Wikipedia only has a stub on it. This particular type of cancer makes up one to two percent of all cancers diagnosed in a year in the U.S.

There are no risk factors. Treatment is surgery and radiation. Usually, PLGA (for polymorphous low-grade adenocarcinoma) is a slow-growing, non-aggressive tumor that has an excellent cure rate. That's the good news.

The bad news is that mine has both vascular and nerve involvement. Whatever surgery happens, I'll probably lose a facial nerve. And, if things go very wrong indeed, I'll find out that this damn thing has metastasized to other parts of my body. That would seriously, seriously piss me off.

But, for now, I'm pretending that all is well and that I'm not going to have any problems with treatment, or any sort of metastasis or recurrance.

I'm going back to the oral surgeon on Monday, to see how I'm healing (brilliantly). He'll make appointments for me at the cancer center that's associated with Sunnydale and Giganto Education And Research Inc, which is actually a very good thing. Not only will I be working with people who are used to weird-ass shit like this, but I'll be working with people I know.

I may lose a facial nerve. I will certainly lose all my hair. I might lose a salivary gland. I'll certainly have a big ol' ugly line of staples down my neck, or a bunch of sutures in my throat, when they take the rest of the tumor out.

It is no longer Cap'n Lumpy. I can't be cute about this any more: I have fucking cancer. I'm pissed off, and resentful as hell. It is NOT welcome here. There will be time for reflection and philosophizing and grieving later, but this is not it. I have cancer, and I am PISSED.