the universe and free beer
Jan. 21st, 2004 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pauraque_bkThe short version:
The news is good, and she's doing fine.
*tacklehugs everyone in sight*
The long version:
My mom's surgery was scheduled for 9:30, which of course meant we had to get there at 7:00. This is really too early for anybody to be up and doing stressful things. I forgot my jacket and my wallet, and I couldn't find the book I wanted (The Amber Spyglass), so I brought Soul Music instead, because, like a detective without a warrant, I was only capable of acquiring items in plain view.
Waiting (part one) went by pretty quickly, and soon she was being prepped for anaesthesia and I was being asked to say goodbye. Up until that point we'd both been joking around -- that's what we do -- but in a moment of anxiety I told her that I'd asked my friends to pray for her, and that I knew a lot of people were.
At that point, the anaesthesiologist mentioned that what she was putting in the IV now would give her amnesia, so she wouldn't remember anything after this. In retrospect, I kind of wonder if that's an old anaesthesiologists' trick to get nervous family members to go ahead and say what they're feeling, because that's what happened.
The surgery was scheduled for two and a half hours, and that's about how long it took. Waiting Part Two (Electric Boogaloo) involved the discovery that the best watermelon in the world is to be found in a hospital cafeteria in the middle of January, and that Terry Pratchett would probably be capable of making me laugh under absolutely any circumstances.
They paged me around noon to say that she was out of surgery, and I met with the surgeon. There was some difficulty about finding an empty room to talk, which sent my anxiety level through the roof. That was easily the worst moment: The thought that if it were good news, she'd just tell me right there in the lobby.
Of course, that turned out not to be the case. The chemo had been more successful than they'd thought, and they removed all the cancer they could see. Everything went better than expected. The surgeon then made the mistake of asking me how I felt, whereupon I took the opportunity to talk her ear off for some minutes, all the while trying to remind myself that she's a *surgeon*, not a therapist. Eventually I got a grip and made it back to the lobby.
I tried to call the relevant people, but found that the pay phones wouldn't call out of the area code. So the next mission was to find out when and where I could actually see my mom.
First I was told it would be about an hour and a half before she was moved upstairs, which initiated Waiting Part Three (Wait Harder). There was a bit of sun by then, so I went outside and read some more. A rather soccer-mom looking person stopped to tell me how much she loved Pratchett, and we talked about Soul Music for a minute -- I was about halfway through the book. "Makes Soccer Moms laugh out loud" would be a good blurb for the back cover, I think.
I waited about two and a half hours before asking the receptionist guy what the holdup was. He called downstairs, and reported that they'd already taken her upstairs, to the fourth floor. So I headed up to the fourth floor, where, of course, my mom was not. (Since I already knew she was fine, this was more bemusing than nerve-wracking.) The fourth floor sent me to the sixth floor, where she was not either.
I came back down and explained the difficulty to Receptionist Guy. He frowned at his clipboard. "Her name is Covington, right?" he said.
"Nope," I said.
"Ah," he said, "that would be the problem."
After a bit more calling of various floors, he determined that she was actually still in recovery (where visitors aren't allowed), because they were overcrowded and there was a wait for rooms. Realizing that he'd fucked up, Receptionist Guy gave me a $10 coupon for the gift shop, presumably so I wouldn't bitch at him. In fact, I wasn't angry and had no intention of bitching at him, but he didn't know that. So now I was both not-angry and $10 richer.
Having acquired an inoffensive but ludicrously overpriced ($10.00) scented candle, I called my brother. He should have been home from school by that time, but he wasn't answering the phone. I left him a message that mom was fine and to call our father and tell him so, having no expectation that my brother would actually do this, but satisfied that I had done my filial duty.
Waiting v4.0 gave me the opportunity to finish Soul Music, after which I wrote a few pages of JPW-verse Ron/Lavender. I blame this on the lack of sleep.
Receptionist Guy paged me at about 4:30 and said there had been no movement, but that he'd arranged to take me down to Recovery. Nice!
My mom looked worlds better than I'd expected -- rather more cheerful and lucid than me, at that point. I didn't know what you're supposed to say in a recovery room, so I just joked around and pretended to read things off her chart. It made her smile.
Eventually we did make it up to her actual room, where she'll be tonight and tomorrow. I hung out for a while, but I was really fading fast, and still had to get home and secure dinner for both the cat and the brother, not to mention call my father. My father and I hardly get along, but he certainly didn't deserve to be kept waiting for news as long as he was -- of course, my brother never checked the messages, nor did he call my father after I called him from my mom's room and told him again to do it! Augh. But whatever.
I left at about 6:30. So I wasn't there for quite 12 hours, but it was close. Extremely tired and half-giddy, I arrived at the train station, where a pretty girl immediately struck up a conversation with me. I have to admit I have no idea what we talked about (something to do with pigeons?), but she was flirting with me, which at that point in the day was simply whiplash-inducing. She asked me where I'd just come from, and I told her the truth, which seemed to put something of a damper on her flirtation, though not as much as I'd expected. Eventually my train came, and she told me that I was "a brave boy". Er. Thanks?
So. Cat, father, brother, all set to rights. Brother also belatedly reports that someone besides my father called asking for me, but he doesn't remember who. So if you called my mom's house and I didn't call back, it's not because I hate you.
Thank Glod I scheduled two days off instead of just one.
The news is good, and she's doing fine.
*tacklehugs everyone in sight*
The long version:
My mom's surgery was scheduled for 9:30, which of course meant we had to get there at 7:00. This is really too early for anybody to be up and doing stressful things. I forgot my jacket and my wallet, and I couldn't find the book I wanted (The Amber Spyglass), so I brought Soul Music instead, because, like a detective without a warrant, I was only capable of acquiring items in plain view.
Waiting (part one) went by pretty quickly, and soon she was being prepped for anaesthesia and I was being asked to say goodbye. Up until that point we'd both been joking around -- that's what we do -- but in a moment of anxiety I told her that I'd asked my friends to pray for her, and that I knew a lot of people were.
At that point, the anaesthesiologist mentioned that what she was putting in the IV now would give her amnesia, so she wouldn't remember anything after this. In retrospect, I kind of wonder if that's an old anaesthesiologists' trick to get nervous family members to go ahead and say what they're feeling, because that's what happened.
The surgery was scheduled for two and a half hours, and that's about how long it took. Waiting Part Two (Electric Boogaloo) involved the discovery that the best watermelon in the world is to be found in a hospital cafeteria in the middle of January, and that Terry Pratchett would probably be capable of making me laugh under absolutely any circumstances.
They paged me around noon to say that she was out of surgery, and I met with the surgeon. There was some difficulty about finding an empty room to talk, which sent my anxiety level through the roof. That was easily the worst moment: The thought that if it were good news, she'd just tell me right there in the lobby.
Of course, that turned out not to be the case. The chemo had been more successful than they'd thought, and they removed all the cancer they could see. Everything went better than expected. The surgeon then made the mistake of asking me how I felt, whereupon I took the opportunity to talk her ear off for some minutes, all the while trying to remind myself that she's a *surgeon*, not a therapist. Eventually I got a grip and made it back to the lobby.
I tried to call the relevant people, but found that the pay phones wouldn't call out of the area code. So the next mission was to find out when and where I could actually see my mom.
First I was told it would be about an hour and a half before she was moved upstairs, which initiated Waiting Part Three (Wait Harder). There was a bit of sun by then, so I went outside and read some more. A rather soccer-mom looking person stopped to tell me how much she loved Pratchett, and we talked about Soul Music for a minute -- I was about halfway through the book. "Makes Soccer Moms laugh out loud" would be a good blurb for the back cover, I think.
I waited about two and a half hours before asking the receptionist guy what the holdup was. He called downstairs, and reported that they'd already taken her upstairs, to the fourth floor. So I headed up to the fourth floor, where, of course, my mom was not. (Since I already knew she was fine, this was more bemusing than nerve-wracking.) The fourth floor sent me to the sixth floor, where she was not either.
I came back down and explained the difficulty to Receptionist Guy. He frowned at his clipboard. "Her name is Covington, right?" he said.
"Nope," I said.
"Ah," he said, "that would be the problem."
After a bit more calling of various floors, he determined that she was actually still in recovery (where visitors aren't allowed), because they were overcrowded and there was a wait for rooms. Realizing that he'd fucked up, Receptionist Guy gave me a $10 coupon for the gift shop, presumably so I wouldn't bitch at him. In fact, I wasn't angry and had no intention of bitching at him, but he didn't know that. So now I was both not-angry and $10 richer.
Having acquired an inoffensive but ludicrously overpriced ($10.00) scented candle, I called my brother. He should have been home from school by that time, but he wasn't answering the phone. I left him a message that mom was fine and to call our father and tell him so, having no expectation that my brother would actually do this, but satisfied that I had done my filial duty.
Waiting v4.0 gave me the opportunity to finish Soul Music, after which I wrote a few pages of JPW-verse Ron/Lavender. I blame this on the lack of sleep.
Receptionist Guy paged me at about 4:30 and said there had been no movement, but that he'd arranged to take me down to Recovery. Nice!
My mom looked worlds better than I'd expected -- rather more cheerful and lucid than me, at that point. I didn't know what you're supposed to say in a recovery room, so I just joked around and pretended to read things off her chart. It made her smile.
Eventually we did make it up to her actual room, where she'll be tonight and tomorrow. I hung out for a while, but I was really fading fast, and still had to get home and secure dinner for both the cat and the brother, not to mention call my father. My father and I hardly get along, but he certainly didn't deserve to be kept waiting for news as long as he was -- of course, my brother never checked the messages, nor did he call my father after I called him from my mom's room and told him again to do it! Augh. But whatever.
I left at about 6:30. So I wasn't there for quite 12 hours, but it was close. Extremely tired and half-giddy, I arrived at the train station, where a pretty girl immediately struck up a conversation with me. I have to admit I have no idea what we talked about (something to do with pigeons?), but she was flirting with me, which at that point in the day was simply whiplash-inducing. She asked me where I'd just come from, and I told her the truth, which seemed to put something of a damper on her flirtation, though not as much as I'd expected. Eventually my train came, and she told me that I was "a brave boy". Er. Thanks?
So. Cat, father, brother, all set to rights. Brother also belatedly reports that someone besides my father called asking for me, but he doesn't remember who. So if you called my mom's house and I didn't call back, it's not because I hate you.
Thank Glod I scheduled two days off instead of just one.
