Status report -- or -- Where you stand depends upon where you sit

Bee asked after my health in a recent comment.

Long Suffering Spouse and I went to see the surgeon a week ago today.

It was our second visit to the doctor's office since I'd been released from the hospital. We went the first time because my wounds were oozing something and we didn't know if this was a problem. When we called to inquire, the doctor told us to come in -- but two seconds after looking at it said it was perfectly normal. So that was good.

Even better, the surgeon had just that day received the pathology report from my surgery. They'd biopsied everything in sight. They may have taken samples from a couple of the spectators in the OR. But they couldn't find anything else to work on -- so that means no chemo, no radiation, no nothing.

So we went into last Monday's scheduled appointment with a good attitude. I was hoping to be cleared for work.

You may recall that, by last Monday, I'd even gone to court once, for a settlement conference. It had knocked me out for a day and half afterward -- but I'd done it.

We actually didn't see my surgeon last Monday; we saw his young apprentice. I think the young doctor may be given a lot of the follow up work -- so that Dr. P. (who really is good at what he does) can do more of it.

The young doctor asked a few questions and seemed pleased by the answers -- but he balked a bit when I asked him about going back to work. "This was a major operation," he said. "You really need about six weeks to heal up."

"Doctor," I said, "while we were waiting to see you, your receptionist called me up to the window. She handed me a bill and asked if I'd brought my checkbook. Well, I didn't -- but the point is, Doctor, do you want this bill paid or not?"

The young doctor considered the question for only a moment. "Well," he said, "you can try going back to work and see how it goes."

Proving yet again, where you stand depends upon where you sit....

So I'm at least part time again... and I actually finished a brief on Friday. Too bad it was due on Thursday....

I'm still taking pain pills and I'm still not allowed to drink alcohol. That's no way to go through St. Patrick's Day, let me tell you. And I have to wear suits because they have a higher waist than even my Levis-for-old-fat-people (a/k/a Dockers) and my middle is still swollen and tender. The doctor suggested that suspenders (instead of a belt) might be more comfortable, and he was right. And there are other issues, still, but I'll spare you the details.

You're Welcome.

I made it to work three days last week. I worked a full day Friday, the day I finally finished that brief.

Last Tuesday, my pastor called to chide me for coming back too soon. He had been planning to stop by the house to say hello, he told me, but he'd run into Long Suffering Spouse at school and she told him I'd gone into the office. I think she put him up to the lecture, too, but I can't prove it. Under the circumstances, I made it a point to get to Mass on Sunday....

Thanks again to all who've sent me their good wishes during my recovery.