Not a phone call I would want to get again, really:
Phone: This is Carol, from [my oncologist]'s office.
[insert sound of heart stopping... here.]
SJ: Yes, hello.
C: [my oncologist] would like you to come back in and have your blood tested again, because your Billy Rubin was low.
SJ: What?? Billy who? I don't know anyone named Billy.
C: Bilirubin, it's an enzyme having to do with liver function.
C: So, he would like you to come in in 2-3 weeks.
SJ: 2-3 weeks. Right.
C: OK so we'll see you then.
Billy Rubin, that bastard. How could he abandon me in this fashion? So, I went back in and told them that I had flunked my blood test, but had studied really hard and would like to take it again. I got nuthin - people who talk to cancer patients all day have very little sense of humor, actually. Then they stuck me again, and said they would only call me back if it was low again. I think it has been long enough that I'm out of Billy Rubin's woods. And man, no more splitting a bottle of wine before my blood tests. I'm thinking that was the culprit - my liver was trying to send an SOS to the oncologist. Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!