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epitome of incomprehensibility
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My mother is waiting for one. The hospital was supposed to schedule it by now. The doctor's office says it will remind the hospital.
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This is like the time I hadn't taken a plane in years and I was sitting in one, waiting for it to leave for Halifax. First I was scared of flying, Then, as the delay dragged on, I was scared of NOT flying. Specifically, not flying in time to catch my bus connection.
West-coasters might justifiably think, "Why take a plane just from Montreal to Halifax?" but I was crunched for time. A choir concert Saturday evening, my brother's graduation in Antigonish Sunday afternoon. My parents had left a couple of days earlier by car (can't remember whether their neighbour's or a rental). I joined them in this vehicle on the way back. Photographed the pastel pebbles along the Cabot Trail coastline and the angry milkshake of Grand Falls in New Brunswick.
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Also in pre-pandemic memories - 2019 or thereabouts - is the operation Mom's friend had. It was to correct a heart valve problem. We visited her a day or two after the surgery. She was alert and walking around, set to go home the next day. Two red points were all the visible scarring. Her recovery was fast.
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But then, a more recent memory left a small scar in my mind. I wrote about it in unexpected_loss: a fellow musical-doer died after an operation to remove some small non-cancerous growths in his esophagus. It should have been uncomplicated. Perhaps he didn't follow the rest directions? Perhaps the surgeons fucked up? Maybe both? What I know is he died from internal bleeding, and that seems an awful way to exit this world. (For him especially: when he chose to be overdramatic, it was funny, not tragic.)
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So you can see I worry about a surgery happening. But I also worry about it not happening. Be faster than the slow and small cancer - please, Hôpital Alfred Dreyfus. (For a lighter note, see hospital_nicknames.)
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