I am a patient man, but I wish I had a heavy bag to punch.
I’ve grown tired of waiting. Wall-E, the little neuroendocrine tumor, has overstayed his welcome. Cheeky little devil.
So, here’s how the Battle Royal of my life will play out. I’ve been lead to believe that my surgery will occur any day now, and that I will only have a few days’ notice. I have been through the pre-op drills, and marked and sent for another MRI and CT scan — and those results only have a shelf-life of 30 days. I have ten remaining.
I like my neurosurgeon, Dr. Clarke, and he comes highly-recommended. He’ll be working with Dr. Massoud, who is an ENT man; I know him very well because he was Mom’s doctor, too. He’s a wonderful, gracious man from Egypt, and I will always be grateful for the kindness he showed to Connie.
Mostly, I find the news encouraging.
The procedure is expected to take about five hours, but sometimes it takes the better part of a day. I will only spend three to four days in the hospital, and I should be out of bed on the second day. I should not be scarred because they’ll be going in through my sinuses. So my hair will not be affected!
My recovery will last six weeks or more, and I’ll need to act like a dandy. I won’t be painting our office and I won’t be returning to karate any time soon. Perhaps I’ll be able to work on my second book, he wrote optimistically (which seems important to me now since the first book seems to be going nowhere).
I’m hoping the odds will be ever in my favor. I have a 50 percent chance of losing all pituitary function, and a minute chance of regaining some that I’ve already lost.
As a former wine taster and food writer, my heart does turn icy when I think about losing my senses of taste and smell. The chances are only ten percent, but know that I’ll be crossing my fingers on the table.
It gets better from here. I have less than a one percent chance of losing my vision, suffering a stroke, or dying on the table.
I’m not a betting man, but I like those odds.
What I don’t like is that Wall-E is expected to return. Dr. Clarke says it’s unlikely he’ll get it all, and that the sneaky little bugger will once again take up residence.
But that’s a story for another day. And hopefully a day that’s far, far away.
Right now, I’m thinking that I’d like to live happily ever after. At least for a little while.