How about…..NOW!

A number of ancient Greek surgical tools. On t...
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After Princess Girl’s surgery this summer revealed a genetic anomaly instead of an injury, we knew it was just a matter of time before the other ankle would have to be repaired. Ever the optimist, I held out hope that the right ankle wouldn’t bother her like the left had. It wasn’t her dominant leg after all. You know what they say about wishes. Yeah, and I don’t have a horse to ride either.

The minute her left leg was completely healed she started having trouble on the right. The tendon started popping. It began hurting during tumbling. The pain increased both in frequency and intensity. It happened so fast. I have come to the conclusion the right ankle has always been bad. She just didn’t realize it because the left was worse.

Princess Girl is an active kid. She’s right in the middle of cheer season. Basketball season is right around the corner. And she’s in high school. With all of this we discussed putting off her surgery as long as possible. She knew she couldn’t make it until summer. Spring Break might be the perfect solution. I agreed with the caveat that if the pain started interfering with her activities we would have to move the surgery up. It’s senseless to put off the surgery for the sake of cheer if she can’t cheer due to the pain. She agreed.

I started a pain log. What were her pain levels each day? Were they getting worse? Were they starting to interfere? Unfortunately, for the last four weeks the answers to these questions were too high, yes and yes. And then came the day, last week, when she told me even doing a simple round-off was giving her sharp stabbing pains. A seven on a scale from one to ten. When I told her we couldn’t wait until spring, there was not one word of protest. That’s when I knew the pain was worse than I thought.

Thursday morning I called the surgeon’s office. I left a message with a nurse. Thursday afternoon the nurse of another doctor called back. After she placed the call and asked for me by name she looked at the chart in front of her. “Oh, you are not a patient of Dr. B.” No, we are not. Huh, they must have put the note in the wrong mailbox. She’d be sure to get it to the correct doctor. Friday afternoon, after hearing nothing from the correct doctor, I called back. “Oh yeah, he took that note with him to the surgery center.” Monday, after hearing nothing back, I called the surgery center. “Oh yeah, I see the note and her chart here, but I have nothing scheduled.” Tuesday I’ve had enough. I call the office again. The poor nurse who grabbed that call. I told her the entire story. Every word. She promised me she would write a new note and have our doctor’s nurse call us back that day.

And she did. She explained they hadn’t called back yet because he was trying to rearrange his schedule. He wanted to get us in sooner than December. December!! That’s six or more weeks away! I thanked her for letting us know what was going on. I appreciated not being left in the dark. She said they’d call when they figured out when they could fit Princess Girl in.

Imagine my surprise Wednesday afternoon when my phone rang and pre-admission services was on the other end of the line. She chatted me up for a minute. Verifying what and who. Then she says, “We’ve got Princess Girl scheduled for Tuesday if that will work for you.”

This Tuesday? Yes, this coming Tuesday. We went from six weeks to six days in just under 24 hours. Do you know how much preparation we have to get done in those six short days? I might not even have time to worry.

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