Back From the Brink

Here are the sweetest words that the surgeon said today: "The surgery itself is rather insignificant."

Last week at the check back appointment in Radiation Oncology, Upendra and Al looked so distressed. I knew they were bummed that their efforts were ultimately unsuccessful, but those looks on their faces, the way they both told me privately, out of earshot from Geo, how sorry they were... I've been pretending all week to be brave while thinking that their faces were a precursor to more disasaters. I've been picturing Geo with a Cat Balloo silver nose tied onto his face with strips of rawhide ...I've been imagining way worse that that.

But no! Even though the pain caused by the tumor is fierce, the surgery itself is rather insignificant. They're not even keeping Geo in the hospital -- he's going to the Day Surgery Unit. Next Wednesday they'll remove the outside bit between the nostrils and several centimeters of septum inside. Two weeks later he'll come back for a second day surgery, when they'll rotate the remaining septum downward and borrow a little cartilage from his ear to make him all pretty again.

The surgeon says he can't promise to remove the pain, but we're hopeful, as the pain hurts right where the tumor is attached. And while we're at it, we're really, really hoping that Geo is inished-fay with the umors-tay.

After our meeting at the hospital, we had champagne and lunch at Le Presse, bistro food, if only this place was in Port Townsend instead of Seattle. We shared raclette and roasted beets with roquefort and toasted pecans. The folks at the next table speak English, Spanish, and Portuguese. The guy in the leather jacket winks when he catches me eyeing his cream of cauliflower soup. "It's very good," he says. There's lots of lunch racket in the background and cheerful people all around us. We order dessert-- chocolat chaud, a cup of hot chocolate thick as pudding, bitter and sweet. We eat it slowly, without speaking, without looking up. We take turns scraping the cup with our spoons. When we're done, we get up and head for the ferry.

We're back home in Port Townsend now, with Geo resting. The bustle of the world tuckered him out and we were both grumpy all the way home -- we've been so tense!

Last week, we started talking about going somewhere. Somewhere warm, some beach in Mexico for a month, maybe, once he's on the mend. It's a good omen, I think, that we're talking about traveling.

The surgery itself is rather insignificant.