...hasn't cawled out yet. A good night's sleep did nothing to change my conviction that some adults could just use a good twack in the head.
Our phone rings multiple times a day with different medical offices scheduling tests, giving us test results, setting up appointment dates. It's difficult for Kevin to play telephone tag between his meeting schedule and a doctor's office so we're handling things through our Lafayette location.
The result is that I am the official bearer of bad news for this man. "I've scheduled this procedure for you tomorrow. No, don't worry about it because another office called yesterday and the procedure I've scheduled for you with them next week is going to make this one look like an amusement park ride. You can thank me later, honey."
Tomorrow bright and early we go to the hospital for another "procedure." That's medical code for bigger than nothing and less than everything. This time it's for a nice set of internal tattoos to mark the surgical area for Friday. I have a "duh" moment until I think it through. The tumor appears to be contained within the intestine (this is good news) so the surgeon can't locate it visually. Tomorrow's tatooing will be done from within the intestine to show up on the outside wall of it. Great planning, which I love, but it sounds like a nasty procedure.
I ask about pain and a perky voice tells me "we'll give him something to take the edge off the discomfort."
Three weeks into this and I already know that's a load of crap. Taking "the edge off" just means he won't be in pain but he'll be throwing up and dizzy from whatever they give him too much of to mask wherever they've decided his "edge" might be. I'll be having a heart to heart discussion with someone tomorrow morning before any of this starts.
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