I spent ALL day yesterday in the City, hangin' around in waiting rooms. So much waiting that I knitted a sock right up to the cuff...
First visit was by 0830 to the Royal Melbourne Hossie where they were very lovely, and I got to see the surgeon who had actually talked to my GP 7 weeks ago - I was so grateful to have only waited an hour and a half that I forgot to ask him how his overseas holiday had gone. (Because he wasan't available for 6 weeks after my GP had spoken with him. He didn't mention that to her)
He said that this great bulge could be BLOATING and that I wasn't to be disappointed if I still had a fat belly after he had operated.
He put me on a vague waiting list and said it would definitely be before March.
And grumbled the new Liberal (which is a Conservative rich bastards government if you aren't in Australia) State Gov had lopped $100mill off the Health Budget DESPITE WHAT THEY PROMISED. I said "Who would have thought, eh?". So it is really (Premier) Ted Baillieu's fault that I am not going to get a bed soon at the RMH.
I sat in the foyer to have a little rest and a quiet think about my "bloat" and suddenly there was my ex husband (Malcolm The Unwelcome) and The Next Wife right in front of me. Sadly he was there for chemo treatment. He has Multiple Myeloma - same disease that my father died from when we were all young things. So, as a geneticist, I hope he is spending his last five minutes on earth checking the genes out for MM cos it means my boys have a double dose of a chance. He offered to find a Hep-Biliary surgeon in his wide acquaintance, though oddly enough, I seem to have been able to do that already.
Without his help.
He kissed me. He must have forgotten why he left me in the first place.
Hadn't seen him for ten years, I reckon.
An old Greek lady sat beside me also for a rest, asked "Was that your father?"(haha, he does look a bit aged and decrepit but that is mostly because he is ill. AND because he really is old. If that sounds harsh he told me he was dying, and The Next Wife said "You have been dying for years, Mal" which sounded pretty heartless, though honest). And then said I had "beautiful face" and that it was probably "because of baby"...
Then I caught a tram and had a bit of a walk up to St Vincent's Hospital. It was a lovely, lovely day in Melbourne Town. Perfect for smiling at people and sitting on walls and doing a bit of knitting and having a rest.
I discovered the restaurant and filled in another hour and then went up to the ST V's clinic to check in half an hour early for my 2pm appointment.
There, they told me that I wasn't due till next week, and the letter that I had received last week saying "7th Nov" was really for cancelling the appointment of "24th Oct", but then I pointed out that I received the letter AFTER I had been a fortnight ago, and none of this made sense and I was here anyways so find a spot for me.
Two and half hours later (than my appointment time, but really three hours of knitting there/sitting therre), I was half way up the leg of the sock I finally got to see the surgeon my GP had spoken with 6 weeks ago.
And it was as though the clouds parted, angels sang a cheering chorus, the sun shone and a rainbow arched and danced overhead. Truly really it all happened.
She KNEW what it was like to be size 12 and suddenly have to buy maternity pants (though I reckon she is never going to see size 12, she was about as big as a pixie. Small as a pixie) and GENTLY prodded my belly and asked about all my scars, told me this was as big as she wanted to see me, wrote the magic words "CATEGORY ONE URGENT" on my file and sent me off to Pre-Admission. Actually escorted by now-smiling minion to Pre-Admission. Who welcomed me with open arms and smiles, took lots of blood, and an ECG, and height/weight etc etc, I got to spend heaps of time with smily Erin a baby doctor (not as in Obstetrics but as in Intern) who asked if I was knitting socks for him, and we partied on until about 6pm. And they are writing me a letter very soon.
Because - I shall be having surgery "within 2 weeks, certainly no more than three weeks".
HOW GOOD IS THAT???????????
I got home to the Sweetheart's about 8 pm last night, absolutely stuffed, and have been sleeping for the best part of the last 24 hours.
I might finish the story I started on Sunday next time...
PS Three people - apart from the Greek nana - asked about my baby, and one bloke asked me if it was a hernia because he had TWO and I was bigger than he was. He was pretty pleased to find he was still unique, and proceeded to tell me all about his previous hernia surgery. Fortunately, smiling Dr Erin called me in and saved me a lot of gruesome details....