The ONE day I go out

expecting phone call
but from a day earlier
am lost in space-time?

Yesterday I was supposed to get a call from the Fancy Surgeon's nurse practitioner from up in Cincinnati. She was going to call for a weight and respiratory status update so that we can move forward with possibly scheduling a trip up there this summer.

Of course the call never came.

I wasn't surprised, because the call NEVER comes. I always have to chase it down and make a nuisance of myself. And then when I finally get a return call several weeks later, it's always in the evening. This has been the pattern for nearly a year now.

Except that the call came today. I didn't have to chase it down. It came in at 9:30 this morning. WHILE I WAS OUT OF THE HOUSE.

DAMMIT!

I got a text from our nurse that someone from Cincy had just left a message. I was out at a coffee shop, ostensibly writing with a friend. Mostly I was bemoaning the fact that I have to write a synopsis for my work-in-progress, and waxing poetic about the awesomeness of snack cakes. In other words: I was out of the house – without children – and having (partially productive) fun.

So I get the text and I'm all, "SHIT!" Then I ruminate on how this is why people pay for voicemail or learn how to remote-access their answering machine. I also ruminate on how much it would cost to just forward all the house phone calls to my mobile phone while I'm out. When I'm done wasting time, I frantically try to call Cincy back, knowing this is a lost cause. I leave a message with a nurse, repeating my mobile number about 65 times, and begging her to make sure our nurse uses that number to call me back. Our nurse is out on rounds and I'm all SHIT again, because rounds = lost forever in the bowels of the hospital never to call back ever again.

Except she DID call back.

We were able to chat – me sweating and blotchy, pacing in front of the coffeshop in gale force winds – she calm and slightly rushed. I told her how he's gaining weight and seems to be doing well, she said the fancy surgeon is unlikely to commit to the surgery without a few days of tests and procedures first. This is not news to us – and in fact I'm shocked that there would be a remote enough chance to schedule the surgery WITHOUT the tests that she would bring up the non-possibility. Does that make sense? Ha.

Anyway, the gist of the conversation is that fingers, toes, ears, stomachs and eyeballs are crossed that we will be a go for evaluation and possibly, possibly the reconstructive surgery in July. IF Ike-a-saurus continues to gain weight. IF his lungs are healthy. IF he doesn't get any major illnesses. IF a meteor doesn't hit the house. IF we survive the upcoming zombie apocalypse.

Lots of IFs there.

Now I wait to hear if the fancy surgeon has space in his schedule in July.

And I confirm THEY HAVE MY FUCKING CELL PHONE NUMBER.

And my deep breaths commence in 3… 2… 1…

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3 thoughts on “The ONE day I go out

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