Gran-Natomy

Kevin set up 7 year old Joshua's computer today so we could talk via Skype. I objected strenuously to the idea of introducing another bit of technology into our days but was clearly outmanned by Josh, his mom and gramps.

So tonight we tried it out. Kevin sat on the sofa and I stood behind him while he adjusted lighting, camera and volume for our first ever live online visit with Joshua.

We could hear him perfectly. He could only hear choppy bits of our side of the conversation. Since we aren't nearly as entertaining or funny as we like to think, the seven year old clearly had the better side of things so far.

We couldn't see him at all. He, however, could see us quite clearly.

So clearly, in fact, that his mother felt compelled to offer this information:

"Just so you know, mom, what he can see is just the top of grandpa's head and a full on shot of grandma's boobs right through her pajama top."

I had been thinking we could work on his Spelling together online. Maybe do his Reading assignment. A little Math. Never, not once, did I plan to cover Anatomy.

I had a few suggestions for where grandpa might want to store the video camera now that it's been removed from the computer.

Never Trust a Vegetable

Yeah, it creeped me out too.

Some sort of nasty bell pepper dwelling caterpillar was my first guess when I found it inside the pepper-formerly-destined for Kevin's stir fry.

It's something inanimate growing in the pepper. Probably harmless, maybe a seed that's sprouted. But who knows? Maybe it's some "harmless" growth spurred by a chemically induced misfire in bell pepper DNA. Possibly it's the vegetable equivalent of my over-abundant estrogen fueled cell rampage.

Whatever it is, the last time I saw something that creepy looking growing in what otherwise appeared to be a healthy happy place was two years ago when a doctor showed me photos of the tumor he had just found during Kev's colonoscopy.

And that happy epidsode resulted in major surgery for Kevin followed by almost a year's worth of radiation and chemotherapy.

The Misses Lorri have always blamed my meat loaf for that entire incident. I've suspected all along that it was the vegetables. They look all healthy and good for you but you never know what secrets they're hiding.

This is why I've avoided vegetables as much as possible throughout my adult life. You can't trust 'em.

2 Years, 15 Hours, 56 Minutes

Two years. Two years, fifteen hours and fifty-six minutes since a doctor I had never met before and have never met since told me Kevin had rectal cancer. I remember thinking, even as he was telling me about lesions and tumors and cancer and surgery, that he was doing such a good job of giving me such shitty, pardon the pun, news. And the nursing staff was fantastic. The gastroenterology suite at Home Hospital has become my benchmark place for where you want to be, who you want to deliver, stunning, life altering news.

Anyway, in honor of Kev's second cancer-versary (Not that he likes to celebrate or even recollect the date. He was blissfully under the influence of anesthetics through the worst of the day and has taken that approach as often as possible since. But the minutes, seconds of the day are permanently etched in my mind.), to mark the momentous two year occasion of being stunned, muddling through it and leaving it behind (damn those puns), I found this little gem on YouTube. A lovely tribute to the doctors he had in the beginning who set the stage for how we would get through it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_N0w2rORwSc

Waiting with Patients

I am waiting. Again. Along with a roomful of other people, fully half of which also show signs of being impatient waiters.

We've been here since 11:20. It's now 12:57. Kevin and his nurse walked back to the surgery suite at 12:41, IV already in place, all set to start.

The fact that I know, to the minute, when he was led away is testimony to my clock watching tendencies.

The waiting will be fine up to an hour. That's my worry point for a sigmoidoscopy. After an hour, things have usually gotten more complicated in some way and my clock watching, leg bouncing impatience will become obvious.

With plenty of time to go in my worry-free hour, though, I can people watch in between being chatted up by several elderly patients who are intrigued by my computer's ability to be "on the 'net with no wires or plugs." It seems to be senior day at the surgical center; Kevin is among the few patients who appear to be under 65 or 70.

Most of the people in the room, though, are waiters, like me. Waiting for a patient to be called back to surgery or waiting for one to come out. They stream up to the reception desk in turns to ask about time...an appointment hour that's passed, how long until the patient is in recovery, released, returning for a check up. While my policy is not to ask about him until it appears he's been lost--and in pushing 2 years worth of this stuff, that's the one thing that hasn't happened--I know the leg bouncing, toe tapping, watch checking rhythm of the anxious and impatient.

Another senior peeks over to see my computer in action. She talks about her amazement at learning something new each day no matter where she finds herself.

Today I'll set aside the worry in favor of the wonder. I'm going to post this and pop up the front page of my blog...the seniors are going to love the pixel by pixel crawl of my inchworm followed by a burst of butterflies.

I may not have patience, but I can pass the time with wonder-filled patients.