January 10, 2009

It has been brought to my attention that I have left one or two of you in the edge of your seat for far too long. I have an excuse, I haven't felt up to it. Worry no more, I will not leave you in the lurch any longer. Your wishing, hoping, anticipating, snoring, waiting for my final post on my adventure is over.

We last left our hero (that's me) in his doctors office, where he was told of his "condition". If I remember correctly our hero had opted for surgery to remove his "condition". OK are we up to speed? Are you ready? Good, now lets finish my adventure.

I knew I wanted the cancer removed. There was no question about it. Mrs. Raballard agreed with me, so actually my appointment to go over my options was a mere formality. Surgery was the only option as far as we were concerned. My doctor agreed with me (although I think he would agree with which ever option I decided to chose).

As I said before we scheduled my surgery for the end of October, now I could go home and try to relax. My fate was now in the hands of a competent surgeon. There was nothing left for me to do but wait, relax, and worry myself sick. Wrong, did you know that you donate your own blood for your own surgery? I didn't. Did you also know that it takes two visits one week apart in order to donate the right amount of blood? I didn't. I find myself thrown into the wonderful world of blood letting. Running around donating your own blood leaves very little time to relax. My first ordeal was scheduled for October 8th, twenty days prior to my surgery. There is no doubt that donating blood is a noble cause, as long as it goes to the right patient, which in my case is me. I don't know if I am the most deserving patient, but it is after all my blood and I want it back. I would be amiss if I failed to mention the snacks they force you to have after you donate. My next appointment with the legal vampires was scheduled for October 15th, thirteen days before my surgery. My donating was much like the previous appointment (so please read the last few sentences again, go ahead I'll wait.)

I now have thirteen days in which I can relax, watch TV and worry myself sick. Wrong. They have a little thing called pre-op appointment. That's sort of like a meet and greet at the hospital. I scheduled my pre-op appointment for October 21rst, one week prior to my surgery. The pre-op appointment is not for the faint of heart, it is a grueling meet the staff marathon. I met the administrator, the head nurse, the paper shuffling insurance curator, the anesthesiologist, the lunch lady and the janitor all one right after each other. The staff wishing to meet me, and tell me what to expect were lined up for miles. Hours of blood pressure taking, heart monitoring, question answering, dragged on and on. Finlay I signed my name for the last time, crossed my last "T" and dotted the last "I".

The surgery is now official, I have met everybody I am required to meet. I now have seven days left prior to the surgery. I can now go home, relax, be with my family, and worry myself into a coma. Wrong. I get an out of the blue call from the anesthesiologist, he refuses to be apart of my team, unless I get my pace maker checked. (have I failed to tell you I have a pace maker?) I assure the sleep inducer that I had my pace maker checked earlier in the year, but that isn't good enough for him. He tells me he can supply a good hammer, and I can put myself to sleep, but if he doesn't hear from my heart doctor, he will be playing golf on the day of my surgery. I call my heart doctor on Thursday, he is on vacation for two weeks. I now have five days left before the surgery, five days to relax and be with my family, and my heart doctor chose that exact time to go on his Eastern Caribbean Cruise. I asked the receptionist if there was anyway I could get my pace maker checked, it was a case of life or death, my life and my death. I was told the doctor does not check pacemakers, his assistant checked them, and I could come in on Friday and she would check it for me.

Here's where we stand, I have given two pints of my rare blood (my blood has a yellow streak down the middle) I have qualified for the meet and greet marathon. I have had my pace maker checked, and I now have three days left to relax. Wrong, have you ever tried to relax when you are facing major surgery? It can't be done. I am a nervous wreck.

Oh my, where does the time go? It looks as if I will have to make my adventure a four parter. Please come back to here the end of my story. For those that are glued to their seats, please get up and move around. I promise to return to the story in the near future.

Till next time fan.

Raballard, out