Yesterday, it was even worse. As I met the doctor who would be performing my gallbladder surgery, I found myself wondering, "how old is this guy?" After a little talk about my stones, I had the gall to ask him straight out.
"37," he informed me.
"37? You're younger than I am?"
"Just by nine months."
OMG, I am having flashbacks to my childhood. Did he just say he's only younger by nine months? Is he about to call himself 37 and a HALF? Is he going to use crayons to mark my chart?
In all fairness, he's a great surgeon. I've gotten referrals from those in the medical profession AND his mommy. He does approx 150 gallbladder surgeries a year. This is old hat for him. But I'm still wondering if that's the way I should go. An alternative procedure was presented to me that seems a bit more...
...well, FUN.
There's a certain young medical professional who thinks removing my "rocks" is as simple as eating a grilled cheese sandwich. Here's Jacob's plan...
• Build and shrink a submarine
• Hide it in a grilled cheese sandwich
• Have me eat the grilled cheese sandwich to get the submarine down into my stomach
• Jacob takes photos of those rascally rocks while Brady grabs them and brings them back into the submarine
• The whole mini-family comes back up my throat, removing the rocks for good.
One caveat: Be sure to take the path to the rocks. As you can see from the above illustration, one wrong move will have you at a star. That is "the WRONG way," according to Jacob.
I have to admit, I'm not sure which doctor I'll go with. On the one hand, Dr. F has experience and a long-term medical career. On the other, Jacob's plan has me eating grilled cheese in bed.
What to do, what to do.
