Geek Habitat

Time as you know it doesn’t exist in my reality, so I’m not going to even attempt to backtrack through the days I haven’t blogged. If this were a Star Trek episode, I’d say we’ve encountered several spatial anomalies and been attempting to navigate back to our own spacetime rather unsuccessfully. Partially supporting this theory is the fact that despite spending untold hours in the hospital for the past 8 days, visting my mother, I have not once ever actually seen, observed or even vaguely imagined a doctor. If I in fact ever do see a doctor at the hospital, I suspect the first words out of his mouth will be of the “I’m a doctor, not a (Star Trek) actor!” variety just to further confuse my already addled brain.

Yes, Mom’s still in the hospital, but we have high hopes of executing a long-planned escape attempt later today involving a Ford Mustang GT for her speediest possible getaway, and a Ford Escape Hybrid (Warp nacelles not yet installed) to transport all the booty she’s accumulated over her 8 day stay.

She graduated to solid foods again last night (Sunday, May 28th) around 5 PM — her first real meal since Wednesday night, May 24th (which didn’t go well at all.) We left her during dinner last night because as Dad rightly observed, the only thing worse than fearing the meal you’re eating is going to make you deathy ill at any moment, is doing so while under the overly watchful eyes of family members. We got a call within the hour from Mom, triumphantly reporting she’d finished her meal, and not the other way around. Huzzah!

This morning, Mom’s still awaiting an endoscopic procedure … Appropriately vague, yes? This is about the level of detail modern doctors give without throwing out multi-letter acronyms that even geeks cannot recall 5 seconds after they’re uttered! Per Wikipedia, I’m thinking the acronym soup Mom was trying to remember for us is thus: ERCP (Endoscopic Retrograde CholangioPancreatography). My reasoning? This procedure both has the longest name and acronym, and in fact includes the word “pancreas” in its name, thus it’s probably the instrument of torture that’s been chosen. I don’t know what they’re looking for, or looking to ensure isn’t present, as they haven’t said (”they” being the invisible doctors only Mom has observed, and Dad’s spoken to once via the telephone.)

I didn’t know one could develop hatred for an internal organ, but I’ve decided the pancreas really is a bitch. Did you know she (the pancreas) doesn’t even wait until you start eating to start over-reacting? Oh, no, she’s secreting enzymes and hormones, getting herself worked up into a hissy fit, the moment you so much as smell food.

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Cross fingers for a release from the hospital and speedy getaway this afternoon! Otherwise, they need to name the damned hospital room after her ‘cuz she owns it, now!