Tuesday, 10 November 2015

We Are Not Amused

How did I get on this ride? 
I didn’t buy a ticket, or get in line. I’m not even tall enough to qualify. Someone made a huge mistake. I’m not at all sure the seat belt and roll bar will keep me from getting hurt. It’s going too fast. I hate this swooping feeling in my stomach.

Three weeks ago we were floating along as usual in our peaceful retirement years.
Today, with gritted teeth, I pulled free two large bandages from my husband’s scalp, cutting any hairs that stuck to the adhesive edges. Good job I have a degree in nursing - not.
Underneath was a six inch long curve of bumpy skin puckered by a row of staples that held his skull together.  Frankenstein monster’s incision is behind his left temple. Bits of dried blood and antiseptic lotion remain. Showers aren’t allowed yet. Gross.

This is his first day home after brain surgery to remove as much as possible of an anomalous growth that had suddenly affected his speech. Ever ridden in an ambulance? First time I’ve dialled 911.

The tissue has gone off to a lab somewhere where someone will test it and do their best to report specific information to the surgeons. There is also a fourth (fifth? sixth?) MRI test being read and analysed by someone else somewhere else. Don’t ask me.

No one knows the diagnosis yet, let alone the prognosis. Three weeks ago we were whisked willy-nilly to these monstrous carnival grounds where nothing makes sense, and dragged onto a nasty midway ride controlled by complete strangers. Each healthcare carny politely tries to answer our stunned questions but the answers conflict and one worker is soon replaced by a new face on duty.

Who’s the manager here? What’s going on?

Hang on, my friend, just wait and see.

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