Bursting with his usual enthusiasm, he queried us, then proudly presented the image of the X-ray taken of my husband's chest a scant half-hour earlier at the hospital, the very picture of perfection, he beamed at us. Indeed, to me, it did present as perfect; the outline of a young-in-appearance body, sleek and muscular, not an ounce of unneeded fat, the interior appearing perfectly and frighteningly as it should. But as laymen and patients we are hardly fit to interpret what we see, though to the surgeon the X-ray represented proof-positive of his outstanding skills, extending the life of an 80-year-old man whom he described as 'fit and healthy' despite the heart condition that led to the open-heart surgery.
To my husband the X-ray meant little of practical, interpretive value, but the surgeon's pleased exhalation of satisfaction and his beaming smile, along with the words "just perfect!", put to rest his concern that something might be discovered to have gone awry, and the potential of re-visiting the surgery haunted his nightmares.
The atmosphere of the day yesterday may have been broodingly nasty with overcast skies, frigid temperatures and a wretchedly icy wind, but the atmosphere in our minds couldn't have been more joyful. Even the 30-minute walk we took down our street, along the main street, up a neighbouring street that links eventually to our own, was that of being protected in a cocoon of comfortable reassurance, making this walk memorable for the vigour expressed by my husband as he strode confidently along beside me, chatting our impressions of the day with no need to stop to rest as we proceeded back to our home
No comments:
Post a Comment