Better

I can't tell you all how much your comments and support have meant.

Things have settled down a bit over the past few days. Thursday, Lilian and I spent 5 hours (including travel time) waiting for this and that related to her impending surgery, mostly at the cardiothoracic surgeon's office. It is fortunate that I'm not lacking in butt cushion as the chairs, as per health care regulations, were. Sitting in the overcrowded waiting room it struck me how waiting in a patient waiting room is just like waiting at the airport for your flight. Well, except for the lack of multiple food courts to pass the time. The endless sitting with full knowledge that the time you have been given for a departure from the waiting area is only a vague estimate, usually greatly delayed. Unless you choose to try to dash to the bathroom, and then your number is called.

Also, we found out how little the HIPAA privacy act does to actually protect the patient from the whole world knowing what is going on in your private life. For instance, as we sat in the holding cell, listening to one of those daytime court TV shows that I tried unsuccessfully to cancel out with my book (Teri Gross's All I Did Was Ask -- very good for such situations where you want to read but need to be able to close the book at a moment's notice), our presence was being noted by the driver of the monthly shuttle from Lilian's retirement apartments. He was there shuttling a passel of little old ladies to their own physician appointments. So all her doings were known all over the apartment complex within a matter of a couple of hours.

Now, of course, this wasn't really news to them as she receives multiple calls each day from the tell-a-friend network, but there you have it. Should you need to keep your visit to your physician truly private, best to wear a full gorilla costume in the waiting room. Otherwise, you are guaranteed to be spotted by the least discrete someone you know who knows all your nearest and dearest.

Don't say I never warned you.

So. We've now got a date for her surgery (4-5 vessel CABG, AKA: Coronary Artery Bypass Surgery): Wednesday morning at 0:dark-hundred. And then we can finally know what we are facing for the long haul. I quite liked her surgeon, a very neat, snappy dresser with a nice, patient bedside manner. (A CT surgeon SHOULD dress like he stepped out of a GQ Magazine advertisement. We all know what one makes a year and dressing otherwise is false modesty. Plus, how can you trust one who looks anything but fully pressed? Good God. He spends much of his days with both hands in people's chest cavities. Would you trust this to a slob?) He politely listened to her discourse on her recent trip to Latvia, despite being about an hour late, explained what she should expect from her recovery in thorough but not overwhelming terms and left her feeling that she was in good, competent hands. As did I. He was just what a CT surgeon should be. Her cardiologist also impressed me as did all of the nursing staff we encountered, the surgeon's own nurse even taking us the short cut through the back halls and back elevator to save us half the distance to the lab. Absolute angel.

Dad has graciously agreed to be here with us to watch the kids and berate the naughty dog (who ran into the street while she was supposed to be having a nice run around the property with him) and watch over Lilian upon her recovery when Charles and I are working. This means that the search for daycare can be put off for now. If Lilian pulls a miracle, we may not need to arrange it, if not, at least that's almost 3 months that Sara will have to adjust to all this, which can only be for the better.

My sanity is much restored, thanks to the above and Marvelous Charles, who has been a rock in all this, and all of you, the best friends in the computer anyone could ever have.

Wish us all well come Wednesday morning. We'll need every bit of it.