The Call

In a perfect world, I get a phone call from Dr. W’s office saying that I have been referred to another surgeon who will be finishing up my care.  If I have a bone infection, maybe there is some hotshot surgeon who is brilliant at rebuilding rotten bones.  I happily wait the couple of weeks for that appointment, do more tests, get fixed up.  Wham, Bam, Thank you Mam.  Physio, drugs, all done.  Wrapped up in a neat little package.

Sadly – that didn’t happen.

I received a call today from Dr. W’s office.

They have booked me in for an appointment with Dr. W and his team next week on the twelfth floor of the hospital.

Damn it.  Dr. W’s team is the Sarcoma Team.  And the twelfth floor is Oncology (yes, I did memorize the floors while I was in the elevators during my previous visits).

There is no way that our medical system would waste everyone’s time and have me come in to meet with the Sarcoma Team to go over the pathology report if I didn’t have cancer.

Right?  If I didn’t have cancer, they would just shift me off on the next lucky doctor who specializes in whatever problem that was found.

But they didn’t.  They want me back.  The Sarcoma Team wants me back.

So I’m sitting at 99.999999999% sure that I have cancer.  Damn it.