I had to get up before six to be at the clinic for the 0630 appointment and I had some medication to take which would keep me 'relaxed'. Apparently, relaxed means walking into walls. Well, general anesthesia, poking, prodding, now you can go home, Miss, take a lot of fluids, relax and ask your GP for 4 weeks sick leave.
Dad sent me a taxi which should be by the building in ten minutes so I procured a takeaway coffee and slept for the whole day. Next day, mom asked why I'm not going to work. Them mothers.
The pathology results were to be in last week. I managed to call the doc only yesterday.
"You should come on Monday, we'll talk about it in person," doc said. That's what they say so that they wouldn't need to say It's cancer, you're going to die, over the phone. In case the patient reacted wildly, they can... I don't know what they do but they can do it.
"Something bad, then?" I asked back.
"Erm, well, I have another patient in, come see me on Monday and we will discuss it."
"Okay, doc, simple question. Is it cancer?"
"Nooooope, lots of benign stuff that need discussion, tests and treatments and that may be related to your current medication."
I postponed working on my last will and went to open a bottle of wine. Not to celebrate. It was one of those days and I was totally drained. I just wanted to get drunk and sleep. Which I somehow managed only to wake into another disaster day.
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