Today I visited the surgeon. He is Chief of Gynecology at Very Big Public Hospital and teaches at Very Reputable Sandstone University. His rooms are much less spectacular than those of my other gynecologist, but do feature interesting and appropriately, quite menstrual, artwork.
Serge (geddit?) listed a number of options and why they wouldn’t really work in my circumstances. Essentially my options are surgery 1 (chopping Carlos and his merry band of fibriods [yes, I do anthropomorphise everything] out) or surgery 2 (complete ute removal). Risks rather similar, costs rather similarly hideously expensive. Despite his somewhat ditzy academic-ness, Serge did a brilliant job of explaining everything and answering questions, I felt confident the ute and I were in excellent hands.
So, decided this mint we’re paying in Health Insurance should be good for something (plus dare not run the risk of shared ward at Very Big Public Hospital) and have booked surgery for 2 September in Small Private Hospital near Joan’s haus.
I can decide up until the day before which option I’d like to go for. I’m leaning toward option 1, because, despite all the grief he causes me, I’m rather attached to my ute.
Whatever option I choose, I’ll have roughly the same down-time: at least 3 weeks off work. There is an upside to being at TheSaltMinesLimited for all this time, I’ve got a bunch of sick leave accrued! Now I need to stockpile books, dvds and chocolate and buy some slippers.
After all this. I am having another glass of wine.