I am not known for being “Mr. Patience” or anything. Anyone who knows me well can tell you that after a few minutes of waiting in line, waiting on hold or that little bit of time prior to any appointment, I will more than likely grind off a bit of tooth enamel.
When the waiting is in a hospital and there are teams of very intelligent people trying to figure out what is happening inside me and devise a course of treatment, it is a bit rough. You do not want to rush anyone as a misdiagnosis could be very, very bad. Like Miracle Max says in The Princess Bride, “Don’t rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”
Fast forward to this morning.
After a solid week and who knows how many tests (and needles), my natural impatience is turning slowly to serious concern. While they have me on a course of treatments, there is so much happening with the different organ systems that there really is no solid, “Hey, this is what is wrong,” which would make anyone a little uncomfortable.
The upside is that after some more IV’s and observation, I should get sprung from this joint. While the folks here are very nice, I flipped over to stir-crazy mode days ago and we are already stuffing our personal items into a bag.
I know there is more of this to deal with in the future and I am very lucky for the family and friends whose moral support is invaluable to me while I slowly sputter along.