Tonight, I went to visit my grandpa and to pick up my grandmother at the hospital so that we could do some retail therapy damage at Macy’s (my grandmother and mom have the same philosophy: When the going gets tough, the tough gets shopping. My philosophy is different: when other people wanna buy you stuff, why not let them?). I got to the hospital shortly after my grandfather returned from his endoscopy procedure. After a few minutes, the nurse comes in and says, “I looked at the report, and I can’t really read the doctor’s handwriting, but it looks like it says ‘ulcer’.”
Um, maybe you might want to zip it?
The thing is, I spent a few years working in hospitals, and I’m reasonably sure that nurses aren’t supposed to be handing out diagnoses. Just like when you work in an emergency room, you aren’t supposed to tell another patient to not worry about the girl puking into a bucket, she’s not contagious, she’s just really really drunk (Um, did I say that?) – there are certain things you shouldn’t say. Particularly if she can’t read the writing.
Don’t get me wrong. We would all love for it to be an ulcer and not the return of the stomach cancer he battled over 20 years ago. Yes, an ulcer is preferable to cancer in our minds. But please don’t say anything unless you know. Please let the doctors do their jobs.
My grandmother is so petrified that it’s cancer that she is just convinced of it. Apparently this is how the cancer was discovered 24 years ago. She’s definitely struggling.
My grandparents have a very odd relationship – grandma is loud and over bearing and grandpa often ignores her (he purposely leaves his hearing aid out sometimes so he doesn’t have to listen to her), but before grandma and I left, they kissed each other goodbye several times, and I am not sure I’ve ever seen them so affectionate towards each other. My sister said, “WOW! I’ve never seen you guys all smoochy!” My grandpa said to her, “You’re young yet. You don’t know just what life is all about.”
Tomorrow is the colonoscopy, and the docs are already saying that he’ll need to have surgery to deal with the clogged artery before the end of the month. The Princess wrote the cutest letter for me to take to him tomorrow (I’ll retype with her spelling):
Dear Grat Grapa
Form: (Princess)
I hope you are feeling beter. I hope you get out soon.
Love (Princess)
Made me all misty-eyed. She covered it with flower and SpongeBob stickers. He’s gonna love it.
About sarah
I'm praying he'll "get out soon" too & that it is only an ulcer.
My aunt had a message left on her machine by an oncologist's receptionist telling her she had breast cancer. #1 She did not. #2 Why was it left on her machine? #3 Why the receptionist was delivering the news is still a mystery to me. My aunt quickly found a new doc.