And Do I Hear Eights And Nines?

By the end of this saga, I will be so pumped full of steroids I may end up with pecs the size of kegs.

Or becoming a race horse.

Yes, our friendly doctor-man used my behind as a pincushion yet again today. That makes two shots and one oral prescription of the 'roids. Barry Bonds and I have more in common than I thought, and I don't even like baseball.

As for the fears, his sage advice was "When you hear hooves, think horses - not zebras."

Uh...OK?

Apparently he felt the breeze as that one shot over my head, so he explained that I shouldn't think the worst, just look at it as what it presented itself to be.

Who, ME? Think the WORST??

So tomorrow I go to get a chest x-ray, just to be safe and to put my mind at ease. And because he knows how paranoid I am.

And I do have poison ivy. Ugh.

Thank goodness I'm already on steroids to help out with that, huh?