Thursday, February 28, 2008

Gallows Humor

Pete's bypass is on for Monday morning. Can I just tell you what a pain in the neck this all is? I've got things to do, for God's sake, and instead of tending to the important things -- you know, manicures and haircuts and dog walking and gambling and the like -- I'm stuck parking my kids in various places and going to meet with cardiologists and cardiac surgeons and cardiac nurses.

I mean, come on, I've got a life, right? Does the wife really need to be there? Isn't this something Pete can do on his own? Sure, I'll pop in the day of surgery to make sure they cut open his chest and not his brain. Isn't that enough? Do I really need to have daily meetings with people to lead up to this? I mean, it's not like it's rocket science. Or brain surgery.

It's just a triple bypass. Half a million people each year have a bypass. And a lot do more than just a triple. They hit a home run with a quadruple. Pete, what an underachiever he is.

The cardiologist drew this way-cool picture of Pete's heart, showing where the blockages are -- 65%, 85%, and the big winner, 95%. I asked to keep it. The doctor asked whether he should sign it. Ha ha ha. It is a very cool picture that I want to scan and post, but that selfish husband of mine won't let me. You'd think it was all about him. Dude, I've got a blog that looks pretty dull without accompanying artwork.

People have come out of the woodwork to say to Pete, "Hey, look at my scar." He's talked to a few people who've had the procedure. He said last night that he's not heard of anyone who didn't have a successful operation. Seems like people walk on a few more egg shells when it comes to heart surgery than when you're pregnant and everyone wants to share a horror story.

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He's going to be just fine. We both know that. Feel free to mention him in your prayers or meditations or what-have-you. It never hurts to have an army covering your back. Or chest, as the case may be.


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