I had a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend; really was good. Without getting syrupy and self-serving, I really do have mountains of things to be grateful for.
Today, I went back to work and the reality of the appointment is looming. Fortunately, we had 66 patients today so I was busy. Tomorrow, we have a clinic-record-breaking-number of 85. I don't mind having my ass handed to me every once in a while. I usually feel good about days like that when the day is done.
It's good because it squeezes out the moments when I think about the surgery. My boss asked me about it today, though, and that extremely fine veneer of Everything Is Fine failed. I believe it was the comment, "Well, shit, I don't blame you for being anxious about it. They're shoving rebar across your exposed heart." Yeah. That hit a nerve that was hyperreflexic anyway, but I appreciate her being a no-bullshit sort of person. It's one of many reasons I like and respect her.
Stupid. It's nothing but a very expensive consult with a PA on Monday. I've got a few questions for them already, and some are for the surgeon, not the assistant. When I spoke with Kelly, the (?) nurse for Dr. J, she said that the day I spoke with her, they'd done a 44 year old woman with a "twisted" sternum. (Meaning the sternum itself isn't twisted, but the cartilage twists the sternum.) I also haven't called the ex-patient whose number she gave me yet.
I think I'd like to take that woman out for coffee sometime. If she is willing.
Meanwhile, I cough. All the time. And I tripod with the slightest most laughable level of activity. (Tripod) I have friends that do Iron Man competitions. They are my age (okay, one is...the other is a smidge older). You have any idea how that bristles my occasionally competitive nature? If they can do that, I should bloody well be able to walk up stairs.
I just want to get this over with. If they told me they could put that damned rebar into my chest Monday, I'd do it.