The phone rings; the clinic has some test results.
I am baking champagne-based cupcakes infused with homemade preserves for two of my friends' birthdays when I receive this call. I'm in a pleasant mood.
Everything in my blood looks great so far. They are waiting on other results.
I'm surprised the clinic is calling me on a Saturday, especially so when they do not have a full report ready and are not giving me any useful information.
Perhaps that is just how they are (or, thinking about it later, perhaps this is part of their strategy or a cover-their-butt call). I don't care. The news is good: nothing is wrong with me so far.