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A Washington Post story on the condition reports that therapists haven’t been swamped with calls from people with the condition.

Discussions with doctors followed, and more tongue-twisty words were thrown out.

The good news is that my neurosurgeons (yes, I have neurosurgeons now) are pretty darn confident that Steve is not a glioma, which means I can procrastinate on my novel a little more and continue wasting away long hours eating cookies while watching TV with my sweetie. Instead, the doctors think Steve is a – wait for it – ).

Frankly, this diagnosis sounds pretty plausible to me, especially after looking at some of the symptoms associated with pilocytic astrocytoma (from my good old unreliable friend Wikipedia): OMG. If he’s not benign, odds are he’s still very easily treatable. Unfortunately, there’s no way to definitively figure out what Steve is without a biopsy – which wouldn’t be such a big deal except for the fact that Steve’s clinging to my hypothalamus like a bride-to-be clutching a Vera Wang gown at Filene’s basement. That’s highly unlikely (the docs said my headaches and tumor might be unrelated, actually).

And then there’s the very-small chance that he’s a more aggressive kind of brain cancer (on the plus side, he’s tiny. So they’re going to drill a hole in my head, poke some tools through my non-dominant frontal lobe, and pull off a piece of Steve.

The words leave your mouth, and they don’t sound real. The standard reaction to this revelation is something like this: “What the fuck do you mean ‘you have a brain tumor’? ” Nothing like a little fear of brain cancer to convince you, once and for all, that you can’t pull off skinny jeans.

Lately, I’ve been saying a lot of things like that. I concede that the closet purge might have been melodramatic.

Besides, the technical name for Steve is a bunch of words I can barely pronounce.

I’m hoping if I keep repeating it, it will make more sense. Behold: “Fucking goddamn miserable piece-of-shit Steve.” See how well that works? And considering how many big words we’ve had to deal with over the last couple of weeks, I’m inclined to stick to something short and sweet and monosyllabic (this must be how the Kardashians feel).

This comes from Medicine Net.com: Sufferers of this phobia experience undue anxiety even though they realize their fear is irrational.

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