Mostly because I wanted my old friends to know. And facebook is dorky and stupid and image-crafting, but it a useful thing in disseminating stuff like dates for the high school reunion that, to date, you've never gone to, but you like the idea in theory...of seeing the small handful of people you really always cared about. (And the stories that a certain person showed up looking for you wearing leather pants. Alan, you are never, not ever, going to live that one down.) (I love you, you know that right?) (Never change.) I wanted my family to know. And I wanted my health care people to know, because...they will get it.
Maybe. Whatever.
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.
Maybe. Whatever.
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.