Well, there is hope for my hernia. I had the sonogram a few days ago and everything was confirmed. It was that easy. The doctor, a woman had trouble locating it. I have to admit, it’s a bit frustrating to hear a female stick a camera in your underwear and say, “I can’t find it. Would you mind standing up? Even you are talking about an inguinal hernia. So, I obliged and she continued to grope until she finally said, “Oh there it is. It’s a small one.” I closed my eyes with shame. “But that’s good news.” She added. “You can pull up your paints now.”
My surgeon was back from leave after his baby was born. It was his second, he said. I grimaced. Had it been his first that would have sounded more encouraging because a firstborn is a big change, but with two parents, you can handle it. Anyone who has had a second knows that it’s that little addition when everything really gets complicated and when parents stop enjoying parenting. I didn’t ask how he was sleeping these days, but I didn’t joke about how much more time-consuming the second child can be and I made sure to study the seriousness of the rings under his eyes.
The doctor took a quick look at my pre-op, a little too quick for my liking, and he told me about the possible risks, none of which sounded too serious. I mean I guess I could always die on the operating table, but assuming that won’t happen, the worst looks pretty benign, as long as the anesthetics don’t get the best of me and I wake up saying, “I love Barcelona football club”, I should be fine.
Then we set a date, just as I was hoping for, and everything looks like it is going on schedule. My groin feels better already.