Okay, so the other day when the surgeon said that the surgery itself is rather insignificant, it seems what he meant is that the surgery itself, i.e. him wielding scalpel and clamps, is easy-peasy, no big deal. All he has to do is just cut till the edges look clean enough for a frozen section. No big arteries to worry about, no extra-super-dooper surgical sleights of hand required to pull it off. In and out in sixty minutes. The surgeon said that it isn't a difficult surgery to perform and I heard that they would not cut off very much.
They're cutting off his nose. The resident who did the pre-op today said so. They are cutting off my husband's nose. At the very least they'll take the entire tip. Once they have their clean frozen section, the resident explained that they will cut off a couple of additional CENTIMETERS. Two and a half centimeters is an INCH! Hell, Geo's nose is just a cute little Irish type, miniscule by the standards of my Jewish family, there's just not that much of it for a lot of wild cutting off of centimeters.
The surgeon said it, too, on Wednesday, that they would need a couple of clean centimeters, and even though I heard him say it, centimeters, it was as if it wasn't said at all. I was hearing, I was nodding earnestly, but it seems that I wasn't listening.
Waiting for the ferry on the way home this afternoon, we said to each other, "it's just a nose." The clouds overhead were dismal gray. Hundreds of starlings flew above the beach. They moved in the sky as with one mind, soaring, tumbling, turning. We watched the starlings as the ferry docked. The sun burst through and for a moment everything was bathed in deep, golden light, the starlings, the ferry, the two of us.
Geo keeps reminding me that we really don't know how much they'll cut until they cut it and neither does the surgeon, Geo says he's glad not to know beforehand. How all this uncertainty is comfort to my husband is beyond me. And of course, the surgeon will give Geo a reasonable facsimile nose two weeks down the road; he'll only be noseless for two weeks.
I hope that the surgeon really does have some cool tricks up his sleeve for the the second surgery. I hope he makes a lovely, intelligent nose for the middle of Geo's lovely, intelligent face. Geo, of course, poo-poos the cosmetics -- 'just as long as it's a nose and I can breath through it', he insists.
All the way home I scrutinized Geo's dear, sweet nose. I want to be absolutely sure that I've got it memorized. I want to be absolutely sure that I'm listening, that I don't miss anything.
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Mara, I am encouraged to see you describe the experience as an emotional pendulum. And as with the pendulum of life in general, there will be some wild swings. Your blog suggests the pendulum has already swung the other way many times during this experience, finding that sweet spot in the crazy love between the two of you.
I do like the metallic nose idea. George suggested platinum. Being as he is such a boat guy, my vote is for bronze. Cast from the fittings of a classic old boat whose days have come to an end. It would last forever. And when he is gone, which isn't going to be anytime soon, well, you could get up to all kinds of mischief with that nose.
As long as the pendulum is moving, there are possibilities.
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