I passed Roni in the lobby again without recognizing her. Her hair is growing back. I was so used to seeing her with no hair, or wearing a toque or scarf, it's strange to see her sporting a crew cut.
We arrived at the M-entrance. Roni had apparently done some exploring while I was out of commission yesterday. She led the way to the Metabolic Institute.
After another diagnostic investigation, the surgeon declared me a suitable candidate to have a gastric pacemaker re-inserted. We left with a commitment to receive the treatment and care that I need.
I handed the keys to Roni for the drive home. I was in no shape to drive. The relief in the car was palpable. Here's some of my thoughts on that drive:
It was good that I had done so poorly on the clinical tests to qualify for the treatment;
I told you so, Ontario's Ministry of Health;
Must be the lime-green socks!
We called John to tell him the good news...and left a message. We called Michelle...and left a message. We called Mom and Dad, and Dad was home. Through Pennsylvania, I didn't dare fall asleep with Roni at the wheel. I didn't want to wake up in Altoona!
Roni trusted me to drive from the restaurant to the gas station. "I know you," she warned. "You won't get out of the car when you come back."
"I promise, promise, pinky-swear that I will let you drive after I gas up," I promised. The pinky-swear locked it, I think.
We talked with Lori, and Joe, who said at first that he was OK to talk, but during the call, admitted he was up in the air, and it would be better to talk later. Then Jay.
Across the border without incident and home. We were tired.Now we wait while the surgeon writes up the treatment plan, the finance department costs it out then sends it to me.
There's light at the end of the tunnel...and it's not a train.
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