Monday, January 28, 2013

i'll be there

do you ever wonder why 'real' godfathers always seem to have drivers?  do you suppose it's because they might have a teeny faulty sense of direction, yet forever be in denial about it?

thank god for navigation.

at one point, i'm guessing 8 weeks into the 'testing' (biopsies, consults, follow ups, etc) i noticed the godfather hadn't missed a single appointment. i said did you make some kind of deal with yourself to come to every single one?  

he said yeah.  i said you don't have to.  he said i know.
i don't mean to say i took it for granted, bc i didn't, it was just something i noticed once i stopped to think about it.

after the first surgery, but before the 2nd one, is when i became a patient of dr. bear's at massey.  massey is the cancer center, we already knew that by then.

the first day we got there, walking thru those doors, i said whew.  think about it.  no one really ever wants to be here.  you're either a cancer patient, or you're visiting a cancer patient.  he said yeah, that's true.

 we made it through the maze of valet parking, through the hallways, elevators, doors, and into that world.  and i'm not saying we gave each other high 5s when we left, bc we got thru it ok, but we could have.  bc it felt like a kind of accomplishment.

so when i had to go back for my pre - op appt, the godfather asked, do you want me to go?  i said no, i'm fine.  it's only pre-op.  he said are you sure?  i said yeah.  i figured i should be able to make at least one appointment on my own.  i'm a rookie maybe, but not that much of one.  i'd been there before.


i had to dress like a gangster to do it.  a mobster's wife.  (the godfather is not really in the mob btw)

i wore black.  with platform heels.  and fur vest.

i figured that would help.

so when i arrived, after parking, and going through the hallways, and the elevators, and doors, i thought wow.  here i am.

very nice people took me into an office and started asking me questions.  and then i started to cry.  

i said i don't know why i'm crying.  i've been here before.  they said it's okay.  this isn't easy.  i said i know.  but still. face it, this is only pre-op.  

the one nurse had me figured out pretty quickly.  not that i'm that mysterious.  she asked me my height.  i told her.  she said wow.  you seem taller.  i said it's my shoes.  and she let the conversation go in that direction, shoe talk, until that un-ease passed.  

that was nice.

after a while she said okay you're done here.  the next part of your appointment is down in dalton.  i said dalton?  she said yes.

i'd heard of dalton, but didn't know what it was.  

when i arrived, the sign said dalton oncology.

another *wtf* moment.

i met some nice people in the waiting room.  and then i had a super nice nurse.  i think they could tell i felt alone.  i must have seemed like an open book. some mobster's wife i am.

when i was in the room waiting, the godfather texted.  everything ok? he asked.  yeah, i answered.  he knew this was bullshit, bc normally i would have written way more than that.

he wrote sure?  i said yeah.

he wrote, want me to come?  i said no. he said i can.  i said you'll never find me.  i'm way in the bowels of the hospital.  i don't even know how to tell  you to find me. (i knew his sense of 'direction.')

he said i'll find you.  where are you?  i said dalton.  i didn't tell him oncology.  why should he feel bad?

he said i'm coming.  i said no seriously.  you'll never find me. i'll be gone by the time you get here.  

ten minutes later i was still there waiting.  these pre ops take a long time.  the nurse was in and out.  she came back in and said you have a surprise.  i thought wow.  dr. bear's great and all, but it's odd she'd refer to him as a surprise.  duh.  he's my doctor.  why would i be surprised?

but it was the godfather.  i was surprised.  

i said god.  you must have flown here.  what are you, superman?  he said yeah, i guess so. i can't say how fine it was from there.
thank god for the godfather.    

xx katy


  1. Katy,
    Having been where you are, I know there really isn't anything I can say to make you feel better. At least not yet. The words that will begin to make you feel better are "margins are clean" and "cancer-free". Then you can actually breathe again. Until then, {and after} if you want to rage, cry, question, vent--whatever, call me. SERIOUSLY. I MEAN THAT!
    Love ya, Katy girl! Tina @TTGG

  2. Very nice. Godfathers know how to find people. I'm truly enjoying these stories.


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virginia, United States