2:06 p.m.
It’s been a long day yet it seems it’s only a little more than half finished. Cheryl’s sleeping for the moment and I’d really like to do the same.
I’m ready to call it a day. I’ll post something brief tomorrow to let you know how she’s doing.
1:45 p.m. (recovery)
The bandages are striking. I’d like to post pictures but Cheryl’s likely reply (if I could ask) would go something like this:
Divor… no… death… would be too good for you, and not nearly good enough for me.
If I DID post a picture without asking would likely involve something I can’t discuss on a family website.
Alas, I give in to temptation.
1:15 p.m. (recreated from memory and post fragments I could pull from my phone)
I finally got the call. She’s in recovery and awake enough for me to see her. I’m on my way up.
12:41 p.m. (…)
Here’s the patient status, according to the hospital: “Citrix receiver is unable to make a connection to the server.”
DOAH!
12:36 p.m. (staring at a piece of lint)
Staring or starring. That is the question.
Dad! Are we there YET?
12:31 p.m. (…)
Help me. I can’t take another minute of Divorce Court. The lobby staff tell me to wait another 15 minutes or so and they’ll call up for Cheryl’s status – if I haven’t heard by then.
12:10 p.m. (impatient)
There’s still no word on when I can go up, which is clearly NOT cool. Don’t they know this is about ME? Yeah, yeah. Cheryl had surgery. She got to sleep all this time. How ’bout a little love for the folks who had to spend all of this time listening to morning television. Come on, man!
11:16 a.m. (back from Starbucks)
What do you call two cups of coffee, an energy drink, and a big-ass coffee from Starbucks?
Breakfast AND lunch.
I’m on campus (something I’ve done not more than a dozen times since graduation) and I just heard from an old college friend for the first time in 25 years (mol). That right there is pretty cool, but I can top it. I got word from Cheryl’s surgeon. She’s out of surgery, awake, and doing well! It didn’t go perfect and she may have to spend the night as a precaution, but things sound pretty good.
10:18 a.m.
Did I just hear there’s a Starbucks? Good Lord, I need me some coffee.
10:15 a.m.
As luck would have it, right after I made my comment about asking permission, I got a reminder why I should. In between entries I’m researching IP blocking, while thinking about it’s ultimate futility. Good times.
9:59 a.m. (waiting room)
Let there be no mistake, I’d drop this little distraction like an ice cube dipped in hot lube, but the television is turned up loud enough to project to the back of the room. I wonder why everyone is sitting back there?
9:50 a.m. (surgical waiting room)
F@#!, what I wouldn’t give for a pair of Fox-Cancelling headphones.
9:32 a.m. (now I smell like a food court)
I just got word from Nurse Jeanne – the surgeon made his first cut. We’re on our way!
Question: Did I ask Cheryl before I decided to Live-Blog her surgery?
Why would I start asking now?
9:06 a.m. (still in the food court)
You asked for it and by golly, I’m gonna give it to you!
Long story not so long: Cheryl had a mild case of skin cancer on her scalp. Now, most folks would have the good sense to have their skin cancer on an easy to reach spot – like their forehead. But not our Cheryl – she had it above her ear, on the side of her head – under her hair.
Before you ask… no, it’s not easy to get skin cancer under your hair.
They cut it out last week but it left a bigger hole than they thought, so they did about what you’d expect a doctor to do after surgery – they left an open hole in her head. It was exactly as fun as a hole in your head.
Thank you. I’ll be here all day.
She saw a plastic surgeon Monday morning who promptly scheduled her for surgery this morning. To borrow a phrase from the movies (the military flavor), it was scheduled for 0:God it’s early.
Now that the cancer part is gone, the goal is to close the hole in a way that won’t leave a tennis-ball-sized bald spot on the side of her head. Personally, I think it would be a bold move. How often do you get the chance to be a trend setter? I’ll admit, covering a tennis-ball-sized spot in the middle of your head is the safe move, but even men with bad genes can grow hair on the side of their head.
8:16 a.m. (Shands Hospital food court)
This is going to be exactly the right amount of fun. I’ve got coffee, a personal hotspot, good cell service – and oh, that’s right – a wife in surgery to plug a hole in her head.
All I need now is a power outlet, someone to lend me a few power cables, and better meds. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit taking benzos.