Well, we're back in Chicago -- I was "dismissed" yesterday morning, after my appointment with the doc. Here's where things stand...
1. The initial protein that the neurologist found in my blood, way the fuck back in January, was, strangely, NOT found in my blood at Mayo. I don't know if it disappeared, was never there in the first place, or if it only shows up in odd-numbered months, but it ain't there now. Apparently, that's a good thing.
B. All the rest of my blood looks clean. Red cells, white cells, Beverly Cells, platelets -- no problems. My heart looks good, my lungs look good, my reflexes look good, and my ass looks good... in jeans, but is a little soupy in khakis.
iii. They don't have the results back from the fat pad aspiration yet -- I'm supposed to call tomorrow at noon to see what's the shizzle. They'll also have the results of this genetic test that determines whether I have the inherited form of this fucker.
Basically, the doc is pretty dubious that I've got amyloidosis. He says my physical exam shows none of the symptoms of someone with it, there's no evidence, so far, in my blood/bone marrow/pee that would suggest that I have it, and the whole thing just doesn't fit. There may be amyloid in my fat sample, but he says that, regardless, that does not suggest that it's systemic, which is the really bad version of it. I suppose there's still the chance that I'd have the genetic form of it, which is really heinous, but signs aren't really pointing to that either.
So, I'm cautiously optimistic, but I'm not throwing any fucking parties until I talk to him tomorrow. It's kinda like there's one second left on the game clock, the shot has been taken, but the ball is just spinning around the rim endlessly, and it won't fall in or out. A "toilet-ringer," if you will.
The only question is, who's gonna be there for the tip-in -- Bill Cartwright or Will Perdue.