I saw the surgeon today about my hernia, but he seemed more concerned about my swollen lymph nodes (Peggy asked me months ago to see a doctor about them). He seemed as eager to get me into surgery as I was to go, and he made special arrangements to reserve an operating room for Monday.
He suggested an open incision (instead of a laparoscopy), because it will enable him to attach the mesh better on such a thin person as I, and because I will run have less risk of chronic pain (a common side effect of hernia surgery).
I should be well enough by Peggy’s departure for France on February 14th to take care of my own needs, but I will be unable to exercise the dogs or wash their feet when they’ve been in the mud. The timing is no less bad for Peggy. I would not want her to stay home—unless the prognosis was grim—but I could hardly insist that she leave. Ironically, I have been worried for months about the trip, because it is, after all, a long way to France, and in winter at that. I think of all the things that could go wrong—closed airports, car wrecks, the flu, and a hundred more—and I know I will not rest easy until she is home.
Tomorrow is another doctor day. I see the anesthesiologist at 8:30, then have blood drawn, and then top the excitement off with an EKG. The surgeon said that the blood work will rule out some forms of cancer. Since I had expressed no great concern about having cancer when he said this, I concluded that he must be concerned.
Poem 20 - Humans took her place Rural swamps dry or built on Refugee at home