While Dr. B outlines a variety of battle plans, Will's pen, which he'll holster at the end of this appointment, shoots back and forth across the lines of his yellow legal pad of paper. In weeks to come, my husband will take pen in hand, pointedly again, while broadening his plan of attack by marching from office to office, seeking second and third opinions from renown urologists, suggesting that when on the front line, it pays to be ranked with physicians in terms of knowing whom to call concerning—whom to call. As Will's second in command, I take comfort in watching my husband's courageous think tank soldier forward toward strategizing the best way to obliterate this invasive enemy, which proves a serious threat to his life … and our peace of mind.
Will has five options:
Play Russian Roulette
Traditional radiation
Seeds of radiation in which pellets are injected into the gland
Robotic surgery
(I have an appointment, shortly, so I'll go into detail concerning each option when next we meet.)
As our appointment with Dr. B winds down (after an hour and a half), Will holsters his pen and rises from his chair as do I. At this point, we're eager to be alone to discuss details, concerning each option (the first of which makes shivers run down my spine).
When I turn toward my chair to pick up my contoured pillow, which allows me to sit more comfortably, the sharp eyes of this caring urologist, who has gathered up Will's chart after rising from his chair, asks:
Bad back?
While nodding, I smile and make light of this chronic ailment by replying: My pillow is like Linus's blankee, I go nowhere without it.
That bad, huh?
That bad. For many years.
With an empathetic nod, Jerry comiserates: I struggled with back pain for years, as well. Of all the doctors I've seen only one has been of help. Would you like her name?
Since Jerry has already won my vote of confidence, I welcome his recommendation. He disappears for a moment and upon returning, hands me a paper with the doctor's contact information. And guess what? My time to write is short, today, for this reason:
My first appointment with this miracle worker is this afternoon! So—wish me luck :)
Will has five options:
Play Russian Roulette
Traditional radiation
Seeds of radiation in which pellets are injected into the gland
Robotic surgery
Open surgery
(I have an appointment, shortly, so I'll go into detail concerning each option when next we meet.)
As our appointment with Dr. B winds down (after an hour and a half), Will holsters his pen and rises from his chair as do I. At this point, we're eager to be alone to discuss details, concerning each option (the first of which makes shivers run down my spine).
When I turn toward my chair to pick up my contoured pillow, which allows me to sit more comfortably, the sharp eyes of this caring urologist, who has gathered up Will's chart after rising from his chair, asks:
Bad back?
While nodding, I smile and make light of this chronic ailment by replying: My pillow is like Linus's blankee, I go nowhere without it.
That bad, huh?
That bad. For many years.
With an empathetic nod, Jerry comiserates: I struggled with back pain for years, as well. Of all the doctors I've seen only one has been of help. Would you like her name?
Since Jerry has already won my vote of confidence, I welcome his recommendation. He disappears for a moment and upon returning, hands me a paper with the doctor's contact information. And guess what? My time to write is short, today, for this reason:
My first appointment with this miracle worker is this afternoon! So—wish me luck :)
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