I’m sitting in the waiting room. My Dad went into surgery at 7:00am. The nurses tell us that it actually won’t start until about 9:00am. It’s 9:04am. So he has been going through a lot on his own. How much he is aware of what is happening right now is questionable. They gave him a shot of morphine before he left us at 7:00am. I’m hopeful that the drugs are intoxicating him, so that he doesn’t feel alone or worried.

The surgeon told us that things look great (although at the end slipped in, “there is a 5% chance you won’t make it…” Sounds great, unless you are one of the 5%). He doesn’t smoke or drink and he’s much healthier (lost another 5 pounds over the last week). He’ll be in the hospital for 5-7 days, and then back home for 6-8 weeks of recovery. I think he’ll recover fine, although I don’t want him to push it (I know he’ll try) and do too much because he wants to get better.

So I sit here waiting the end of surgery. The hospital assigns you a pager. They page you once they’re about finished. You meet the surgeon, he tells you “ever thing went great” and then you go to ICU. That, I fear, is where I’ll break. I don’t think I will be able to keep it together when I see him there.

Note to John: Do surgeons have personalities? He seemed a little PDD. However, we aren’t paying him for his bedside manner, but for his excellent ability to cut, sew and keep all the right parts in all the right places.