Questions or concerns

We met with Trevor's surgeon yesterday at Northwestern and set a date for the surgery.  October 13 is the big day, so this is really happening.

I like the surgeon a lot: she's funny and an absolute straight-shooter.  She tells it like it is, and she doesn't sugarcoat anything.  She described the pre-op routine, the surgery itself, and what would happen post-op.  T and I spent that discussion time asking a few questions and nodding our heads like bobble dolls.  At the end of the spiel, the doctor asked us if we had any other questions or concerns.

Did I have any concerns?

I mean, duh.

You know how in the movies there is a montage of life events that pass through someone's mind as that person faces danger?  That happened to me, except instead of past events, all I could see was the future.    I saw the next fifty years of our lives race before my eyes in the period of about five seconds.  So many happy times were there, flying by at light speed.  T was in every thought I had, so it wasn't like I was picturing life without him.  On the contrary, I was picturing our future together, both as a family and as a couple.

What I wanted to tell the doctor was that there are always concerns.  Always.  When someone is having a serious surgery, it's always a concern.  Any time there is anaesthesia or blood, there is a concern.  Any time my husband is going to be lying on a table for four to six hours, there are going to be concerns.

What I wanted to tell her was that she was going to be taking care of the man who makes me laugh every single day, of the father of my children, of the smartest guy I know, of my best friend, of the love of my life.  I wanted to tell her that she was in charge of getting every bit of that tumor out.  I wanted to tell her to get a good night's sleep and have a healthy breakfast that morning.  I wanted her to know that although I have the utmost confidence in her training and abilities, I will still be pacing in the waiting room, drinking cup after cup of coffee, and trying not to bite my nails until she comes out to tell me that my husband is okay.  I wanted to tell her that although she isn't a cardiologist, my heart will be in her hands.

But I didn't.  Instead, Trevor and I looked at each other, shook our heads that we had no other questions and concerns, and went to lunch.  For that moment, that was enough.