How can I start a journal at day zero? You're very clever to ask. The answer is: I'm writing this after day zero. But hang with me; pretend it's day zero, because it's important to set the stage a bit.

Each year, like a good boy, I trot off to my primary care physician for a physical. Each year, I usually have a few things on my "to do" list following the physical: blood tests, changes in medication, referrals to other doctors, and so on.

In October of 2006, my "to do" list included two big items: a sleep test, and a CT scan to check my liver.

Now, fast forward a couple months. In typical Tony time, which runs about five or six months behind normal time, I decide I'd better get my butt in for those tests. I do the sleep test. Great. I call and schedule my CT scan, which should really be no big deal. I've had slightly elevated enzyme readings on my blood panels for a few years, and my doctor has ruled out hepatitis, hemacrhomatosis, and other things. "I think it's just a fatty liver, Tony," he says to me. "But let's do that CT scan just to get a better look."

Fine. I'll do the CT scan, then listen to the lecture about a fatty liver and the need to lose some weight. It's a good lecture; I've listened to it before.

So, I schedule my CT scan for Wednesday, May 2, 2007. Unbeknownst to me, it's an event that will have a dramatic impact.

At 3:00 pm, I show up for my CT scan; by 4:30, after an IV, some chalky-tasting gunk I have to swallow, and a few minor unpleasantries, I leave Surgery Center Plus, where the CT scan has been performed. At 4:45, I'm back at the office, joking with a few co-workers.

At 4:50, my cell phone rings. It's my Primary Care Physician. "Tony," he says, "why did you go in to get your CT scan done today?"

I explain to him that Tony time is about five or six months behind regular time. It's a good lecture; I've had to give it several times.

"That's fine," he says. "But what I mean is: are you feeling okay?"

"Sure."

"Any fevers?"

"No."

"Abdominal pain? Drenching sweats in the night?"

"Um...no." At this point, I'm figuring out something is wrong. You would think when the cell phone rang and it was my doctor--mere minutes after I finished a CT scan--that I would have figured this out already. But my brain operates on a fairly standard Tony time, as well.

"Well," my doctor says, "the CT scan found some...abnormalities. Can you come in and see me in the office first thing in the morning?"

"Sure," I say, trying not to sound concerned.

Awkward pause.

"So," I say, trying to act nonchalant--because we all know acting nonchalant will preclude your doctor from telling you anything bad--"when you say 'abnormalities,' what do you mean, exactly? Do I have some growths in my stomach or something?"

I swear, this is exactly what I say to my doctor. And this prompts another awkward pause.

"Well, yes, that's a concern," he says. "Let's talk in the morning."

Oh, and if you're worried about my liver, don't be: it ends up being fine.