I got the following text yesterday, on the way to yoga:
all good. it's a go.
I took that to mean my brother's blood was fine. FINE! Woohoo!!!!
He corrected my facebook post in which I shared that info:
Fine is an overstatement; with medication is sufficient for surgery.
Ok. I stand corrected. Regardless though, it's good news. Great news. It means wheels are turning again. That we move forward instead of standing still, that the transplant is literally back on the table.
That a new date is imminent.
Only, it wasn't. At least not yesterday. His doctor never called to talk about next steps. That means an entire weekend (not to mention all yesterday afternoon), waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
Doesn't anyone in the medical profession realize what a harsh thing it is to leave patients hanging on a Friday afternoon? It truly borders on cruelty. To know that people in the know have information you need and they're not sharing in a timely fashion? It sucks.
I had an amnio when I was pregnant with Jack—I was over 35 and so it was standard procedure. Heading uptown on a bus, I got a voicemail that all way good, the results were fine. And that if I wanted to know the sex of the baby, the office was open until 5. It was 4:40 and I immediately called back, heart pounding, desperate to find out boy or girl.
"The office is now closed," was as far as I got. They'd already shut their phones down for the day. I dialed over and over and over until well after 5, to no avail.
That was the longest night of my life. Time slowed until every second stretched before me like an endless desert. I couldn't sit still. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. All I wanted was an answer. How could people know something so profound about me, with me having no access to the information?
In spite of the fact that the office opened at 8, no one picked up the phone until 8:20. By that point I was on a torture rack, my patience stretched until its almost breaking point.
To me? Information that would change my life. To them, not so much.
This wait isn't quite as dramatic. I'm not pumped up on pregnancy hormones. And I'm not the one whose body is failing. Knowing my brother, he's not in any way as unhinged as I was (he never is). But still, people out there, when you have info, make the call.
This is more than a test result.
This is somebody's life.