Second Surgical Follow-Up and the Thoughts that Don't Really Follow

This is the fifth consecutive week Bryan and I have taken the long drive down to Ft. Carson for an appointment, and some of those weeks featured multiple visits. It's become our weekly date. And I know that sounds pathetic but a) when someone else is watching your kids and you get to have uninterrupted conversations and a lunch with no one asking for a sip from your drink--even if that lunch is in the hospital cafeteria--it counts as a date and b) really, how many things are all that pathetic in context of a recent breast removal surgery?

Now that I am in week 7 since learning the lump was not a swollen lymph node, I've developed a certain mechanism. It's not a "coping" mechanism because I don't think I'm doing it for the sake of "getting through." It's more of a "stimulant" mechanism to keep myself from getting too "bored" with the process.

And the mechanism is this: I've started to become a little obsessed with completely irrelevant details.

Like Dr. Science's first name. Maurice. Mark my words, people: I will find out how a man born in the last third of the last century came to be named Maurice. Family name? Ethnic name? What are his siblings called? I cannot let it rest. Poor, poor, Dr. Markus. He has no idea how I intend to hound him.

Like Evans hospital and its pens. I have seen the pens in the following offices: surgery, admissions, pre-admission and x-ray and every desk has a flower pot full of marbles with pens that have been wrapped with green tape and a fake flower sticking out the top.

Yes, I know this is to keep people from walking away with their pens. (And in a way, it's such a vote of confidence in people regarding their good will: Surely, people are not stealing pens. They simply aren't paying attention when they stick them in their pockets. So dressing them up to be much prettier pens won't make the problem worse, even though if I had to steal, I know I'd take a flower pen and not one unadorned; but instead, it will solve the problem.)

My question is one of origin. Who made all these pens for the hospital? Candy stripers? Orderlies? Some little old lady volunteer? I asked the gal at the pre-admisisons desk and she said that she and "the others" had a "pen party" one day to make them.

Well. I mean. . . Did all the desk people in the offices I've visited have their own pen parties one day? Did the Army send out a memo to hospital personnel regarding the Top 10 ways to save money? (#1: Stop over-prescribing--you know we give these drugs away for free! through #10: Make your pens into flowers.)

Something else: Mayfield was telling a story several appointments ago that related to drug theft within the hospital and this story included his mentioning some girl he'd dated in college. He said, "She was a Texan. I'm a Texan. So we dated," and then went on with his story.

What?

Who says this? Who suggests that the principle reason to date someone is hailing from the same state? Texans, that's who! I know other Texans, and they are like this. Since hearing this, I've been paging through the mental files of my experience with Texans. It's like I'm trying to build a case against them. I've met many Texans here in the Springs. How do I know they're Texans? They tell me. Most of the time. They are. . . they are. . . state chauvinists.

And don't get me wrong: I luuuuuuv the Texans! This is a quirk and not a fault, to my judgment. But I would like to offer the following true story to demonstrate what those of us from the other 48 are like. (Not 49. Why? Ohioans!! They are like mini-Texans! I should know. I married one and he and his family are like Texans in this way, only to a slighter degree.)

I met one of Bryan's co-workers in Korea who had lived in Illinois. Elmhurst, Illinois. Hello! I had repaired the parkway on the very street where he had lived. He went to Sandburg and then York, so we had no teachers in common. But still! We were from the very same suburb.

And we had exactly one conversation about this before moving on to small talk on other subjects. I saw him often in those 2 years and we didn't bring up the Illinois connection even once. No Illinois wave between us. No secret Illinois handshake. (Don't pretend like you don't have one, Texans.) No longhorn gestures combatted by whatever the Aggies do. Nothing. Because we don't think there's anything super-special about being an Ill-annoy-in.

I can't tell you how often I've rolled this state thing over in my head. Trying to figure if any other state produces people who are like this. (Aside from Ohio, of course.)

These are the things I find engaging nowadays. Surgery? Yeah, yeah. Did that. Healing up well. The minor infection is almost all cleared up. Surgery coming up to install the port? Yep. That'll happen on 23 July--next Thursday. Chemo? Uh huh. Starting 3 August. Got to go to a class first to learn all about it.

But the name Maurice. Now this deserves attention. . .