A year ago, I got my kidney removed. It was mostly tumour, anyway.
It was a story full of randomness. In winter, my depression worsened so the doc added new meds, I had some cold from hell, got a live vaccine and had a few other reasons to feel shitty. I had vertigo even when lying down, once, I had a syncope and when I became conscious again, I just was not able to get up from the floor, not sure if it was a lack of coordination or general weakness, this sort of stuff. I stopped taking the new psych meds and the vertigo started improving but I was quite a bit off and as I went to parents', I dropped by at my GP. She did the poking and prodding, decided that by all counts, I'm healthy, I don't look healthy at all, though, and I should get an ultrasound of my abdomen because I feel sickish and it could be the appendix. Well, I know where my stomach is but I didn't object. Some seven hours and five doctors' offices later, I ended up in the university hospital where a friendly urologist showed me a nice big potato on the ultrasound. I asked where my kidney is, then, and he explained that it was the thin line around that potato. Oopsie.
For my birthday, I got a CT which showed sliced potato. Kidney potato was hacked away with the rest of the kidney and the tubing and I ended up with a sexy scar.
And, I'm entitled to all the tasteless cancer jokes for the rest of my life.
