The admiral was just full of jokes this morning at his Duchess’s distress:
What you need to do is get used to the idea I’m going to die in a few months, and then when I don’t, you’ll be pleasantly surprised …
But now at around 4, our mood has improved. We have all appointments scheduled that I can think to schedule (to echo Swift) “as fast as can be reasonably expected.”
We have not had to wait for the Pet scan after all. The gastroenterologist came through at around 1 pm, with an appointment for the endoscopic ultrasound a week from tomorrow. So I phoned the oncologist with an urgent kind of message saying the thoracic surgeon’s assessment, which I probably garbled as I said it fast, but I was clear on the point that now that we had the second endoscopy, I was willing to go privately and would pay whatever was needed in whatever form (cash, check, credit card, I’d bring it in $50 cash in hand!) for a Pet scan that we would not have to wait for. (“Money-driven medicine” anyone?)
A couple of hours later we had tomorrow’s Pet scan.
We go for our radiology discussion on Wednesday.
And I called the office Dr Fortes, the surgeon, mostly on my own impulse, as were all my other calls today — you’d think I loved phones — to tell that we had these two appointments and ask how should I go about to bring the materials he needed. She responded by giving me an appointment the Friday after the endoscopy — the delay is to give the laboratory 2 days to get the thing developed and get it to him.
It seems I need a referral each time we go to Dr Fortes. I was a bit startled at that one. I said my understanding was the referral was for his treatment whatever it was; she responded by saying we would have so many times to come to his office per referral (or altogether?) and I opined we should have as many visits as needed. Silence. Then she said they would get the referral and I said I would call too. So in my new ceaseless phone life I recalled the oncologist office to ask for a referral, explaining we had this appointment. I asked the nurse or whoever to call me back once the referral was made so we would close the circle.
Tons of instructions for where to go, for each appointment is in another place. For different preparations before. I typed it all out as my handwriting is just execrable nowadays and usually I can’t read what I write within an hour.
I have done all I could and so may rest easy. In school before I would have a test, I would study as hard as I could. Once I had done, I would tell myself I had done all I could and would rest easy.
Note to self: must read Mary Wesley’s Jumping the Queue after I finish Jane Smiley’s A Thousand Acres (just now my 2 am book). It may be said I don’t need it, but perhaps she has some tips to offer. I remember she made $70,000 or some such fantastic sum on this her first novel. Surely the title fulfilled what it seemed to offer.
In the meantime here is Diana (Jenny Seagrove) jumping the queue in Andrew Davies’s brilliant neglected 13 part mini-series of the same name:
I shall soon learn whether I’ve lost my gamble — like Dryden, I’ve had my life thus far and no one can take these 44-45 years from me; I’ll just have to find the wit to pay as little for it if I have to. I admit I still hope I won’t — though the admiral’s joke at opening exposes the desperation of the hope.