God Bless Barnes & Noble!

And I don't just say that because I am a loyal employee of the last (almost) nine years. Have you tried their new wireless access in the cafes? It's peachy. On to the news:

The polls have closed, the other organs have all voted and, drumroll please, IT'S LEFTY!

Yes, Lefty has to leave the body. He only has himself to blame, what with his longer urether and better blood vessel connections. I warned him. Latinists will join me in rejoicing that the left, or sinister kidney is the one departing. Wouldn't that augur ill for Doug though, you say? Well, first I'd point out that my left-handed brother is already sinister, but here's the kicker. They're putting it on his right side, so all ill omen will be averted. Poor Lefty, though. He's going to be confused.

Yesterday, after fighting a major (for Detroit) blizzard on the way to the hospital, we had blood drawn for the final cross-match (okay), met with a member of the surgical team (so young!), and talked with Doug's nephrologist (nice man. His son was president of the Junior Classical League, but abandoned Latin for medicine. Sucker.) I also formally signed my consent. No backing out now. What did we learn? Well, here's what the future holds:

Monday
Starting at noon I start taking a super-laxative. It's so super that they don't call it a laxative, they give it the cringe-inducing title of oral enema. I ask you, could you think of a worse name? The idea is that, since my part of the operation is laproscopic, they need all the room in the abdominal cavity possible. So it's my job to empty it out. No special requirements for Doug yet. But me, I was told, "Make no plans for Monday night!" Yay. Then it gets better on...

Tuesday
I don't get to eat on Tuesday. Oh, all the clear liquids and jello I want, but no food. Just to make the lazy doctors job more easy. No, I kid, I kid. This will be the toughest part, I imagine. Doug has to skip dinner, the poor boy. They deliberately did not tell me about the fasting until I got here. What will make it better? Phoebe arrives on Tuesday.

Wednesday
Up at the crack of dawn. No, well before, actually. By the time dawn starts spreading her rosey fingers across the sky Doug and I will have showered with our special anti-bacterial scrub and headed down to the hospital with Phoebe to keep our 5:30 check in time. Uffda! I go under the knife first, obviously, and they expect the surgery to take 3-5 hours. Then, after checking Lefty out to see that he's okay, they put him in Doug, which will require another 2-4 hours. They say that if all goes well, it should start working right away and he could be making urine again before he's sewn up. Gross, but isn't that what this is all about? Making urine?

At some point on this day Phoebe will check into her snazzy efficiency apartment at the hospital. I'll be stable and in a regular, private (!) room by the end of the day. My stay will be brief, and I may even get to leave the next day, but probably Friday. Doug will spend the first night in Intensive Care for sure. They expect him to move to a regular room the next day or so, about the time I'm leaving.

After
Phoebe and I will stay at Doug's apartment while he's in the hospital. She leaves on Sunday, he should come home by Monday, at which time it'll be me and him at his place. The doctors will have a look at me about ten days after the surgery and decide if I can drive home. Once I take off Doug is going to stay with his friend Rick until he's okay to be on his own. That may be a couple weeks.