The Doctor Will See You

...but not until tomorrow.

I woke with a blinding, screaming, fat headache this morning. I blame that goddamned fucking Brobdingnagian eggplant of a tumor that’s lounging around up there like it’s at some exclusive meningioma spa…or something.

I meet with my ace cutter, Dr. Barker, tomorrow morning to talk about getting this asshole outta ma tête. Considering the intensity of my symptoms (before staring on the dexamethasone) AND the fact that they've NOT fully scrammed since beginning that little magic pill, I’m rilly, truly and for reals hoping he has an opening in his sched before February (time frame originally discussed).

Ya know, if Doc B said he could do the ol’ slice and dice tomorrow, well – boyhowdy, that’d be majorly cool by me. Sign me up! My fear is that February will stand. I do NOT want to wait that long – I want this motherfucker out NOW. I wanna feel like me again NOW, (as opposed to an old woman six steps from utterly terminal feeblosity).

I’m planning to go in with examples of every last little twinge, bout of confusion and forgetfulness, the grossly increased tippiness, weakness AND the ongoing inability to so much as scrawl my name OR paint. Shit, I’ll throw in that I can’t boil water without burning it if it’ll help my case. Hell, I’ll bring him all the expensive dark chocolate I picked up in Iceland AND a dozen roses if that’ll help.

Nurse Coco has been profoundly caring and attentive in this needy time of mine. She joins me in bed each morning – sits on my chest administering healing purrs. Later, when I finally take my ass downstairs, she sits on my lap – again with the salubrious purrs. 

Will MGH allow Coco to attend me in the OR or post-op? Can she share my hospital room? I swear, that’ll make for a more successful, speedy recovery. HONEST!