I had lunch at IKEA the day I was told that I’d been referred to an oncologist. Swedish meatballs, potatoes and gravy, and mixed green beans, rang up by a pretty, smiling cashier of Native American and Latino heritage. The food was good and did not trouble me later. The setting was one in which there was virtually no chance I’d be recognized and forced to engage in conversation.
The endocrinologist’s office I was supposed to visit next had received a copy of my recent bloodwork and decided I could breeze right on past them and go directly to an oncologist. My primary care office, my surgeon, and the cardiologist I just started seeing (separate issue?) were all advised and a referral to a cancer specialist was quickly set in motion.
An hour and a half after my lunch at IKEA, I was prone in a dentist’s chair having an upper molar extracted. It was difficult and painful, but my dentist was kind and patient. Her office is a passed-down mom and pop practice that’s in an old house converted to a business. I’ve been going there for a very long time and they are the reason I still have most of my own teeth.
By 5:00 PM I was enjoying a wonderful meal with my wife and our 24 year-old son. We went to a nearby Perkins. My wife had a fancy burger and fries. Our son had three pancakes, two sausage patties, and two smoked sausages. I had a ham and pepper-jack cheese omelet with hash browns and pancakes. We took home a banana cream pie.
This was yesterday. A day I’ll always remember.