Whole New World, Part Four

It snowed about six inches on the overnight.

I had an appointment for a drain inspection at the Cancer Center in Brewer at 9:30 am this morning.

These two things are not unrelated.

It was a gorgeous drive up I95 to 395 to Brewer. The roads were clear, the snow clung to the trees, and the sun was a silver disk behind dispersing clouds.  We saw a Cooper’s Hawk shopping the verge for a snack, and a couple of turkeys flying across the road at about the level of my knee.

We left early, as one does when there are 50+ miles to cover on the morning after a serious snow.  It was a little spooky, driving up I95 to the third largest city in the state, during Tuesday morning rush hour.  There was no rush.  There were some few cars, an a goodly number of big trucks, but nothing like the congestion we — well, I — had anticipated.  Maine doesn’t have a lot of people, and its rush hour “congestion” is a thing of much merriment to those from Away, but — not this thin.  In fact, it was a little like driving a ghost road.

Having left home early, we arrived at our destination early.  We pulled into a space in the sparsely occupied parking lot, and sat for a few minutes, listening to the radio, and waiting for time to pass.

While we were engaged in this pleasurable activity, a red car pulled into the space once removed from us and a woman — the driver — and a young man — somewhere between 18 and 24, I guess — got out.  The young man was carrying a bottle of gatorade; the woman was possibly his mother.  They walked in the direction of the hospital entrance.

The song we were listening to went over and another started.  There was a BAM! from outside — the young man had returned to the car, minus the gatorade and the woman.  He threw himself into the passenger seat and began whaling on the dashboard, the inside of the door, the ceiling.  He was also shouting, apparently into his cell phone.

“I guess they’re not letting extra people in,” I said to Steve.

“Let’s go see,” he answered, and we got out of the car, walked by the vehicle where the young man was still throwing his tantrum, and so the front door.

Before us was a man pushing his wife in a wheelchair.  In the vestibule of the building was a table, with three face-masked women behind it.  As we came up, the man had apparently just been told that he could not accompany his wife to her appointment.  He was…not pleased, and was letting it be known.

I hesitated, a hospital employee at the far end of the table waved me in, and I went.  Steve stayed at the door.

“Just checking,” I said, when I got to my helper.  “My husband can’t come in?”

“No,” she said.  “He can’t.”

I turned and waved at Steve.  “I’ll call you!”  He nodded, waved, and went back to the car, as I turned back to the table.

“Thank you,” said the woman helping me.  Beside us, the unhappy man was being unhappy at volume.

I answered the questions put to me, “Pureled” as requested, and was released to seek my doctor’s suite on the third floor.

I was the only one in the waiting room, save the receptionist.  The magazines had been cleared off the tables, the coffeemaker had an “out of order” sign on it, and also the refrigerator that had, on my last visit, been full of bottles of water.

In good time, I was seen by a nurse practitioner, who inspected the drain, removed one layer of dressing from the incision, and did a quick examination.  I am pronounced to be doing Well, though I still need to keep the drain for another week.

We then went over the pathology report, which is not at all clear-cut with respect to the lymph nodes.  I am promised that the surgeon will call me today to discuss options, which include the possibility of another surgery.

We talked a little about the surgical camisole I had been given in the hospital; and I gave it as my opinion that I had been fortunate enough to be able to raise both arms directly after my surgery, which made getting the camisole on fairly easy.  Someone who was not so fortunate, however, would have had to pull the thing up over her hips, which didn’t seem viable to me.  Maybe a camisole that fastened up the front would be better.  The nurse said they were looking into that, so, yay, I got to participate in Research.

Released, I called Steve to tell him I was on the way down, and rejoined him at the car, passing the red car where the young man was still punching the interior, and yelling at his cellphone.

Steve and I drove home through traffic not much increased, admiring the scenery, and spotting a herd of turkeys off the side of the road.

And that catches us up again.

One thought on “Whole New World, Part Four”

  1. You said, “it was a little like driving a ghost road.” That’s what it feels like to me every time I visit from California. Northwest of you, driving wide highways, seeing one (or two at the most) cars visible in either direction at any one time. Just *that* is enough to make it feel like it’s a vacation!

    Meanwhile, thanks for the update. The thought of a second surgery is certainly not cheering, but then, it’s better than one of the possible alternatives. *sigh* I know you’ll keep us posted. I won’t offer to send cat videos, because you’ve probably got them live at your house. 😉

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