Myles and Danielle are adorable! Myles has more cars than Cal Worthington! I resolve to give him one Matchbox at a time, and slip the four new pages into his notebook. I don't eat the birthday cake. I'm tired, so I leave, get home, munch on a small number of grapes and fall into bed to watch hour 18 or so, of Le Mans' 24. It's hard to get the flow of the contests in all four categories. Lin gets home. It's 9 o'clock. I fall asleep. No word about the transplant.
Until 12:15. The coordinator calls and says, it looks like he's going to get it. "We're bringing him in. The surgeon will do the transplant first thing in the morning. He took his Coumadin, though."
This play by play woke me out of a lovely sleep, and now I'm thinking that he's going to need some fresh frozen plasma to reverse the anticoagulation so he doesn't bleed excessively during the transplantation. What else does he need? Well, he needs an H&P so the surgeon can cut, and I get to be a 71 year old intern to put it all together for the surgery, before the sun rises.... on Father's Day! If he gets the plasma, he's going to be volume expanded, so he needs to be dialysed before his surgery. I get to orchestrate this and wake up a bunch of people. Not that the acute dialysis crew from a care less corporation could be mobilized, but it will be fun to come at them with righteous indignation. Whoa, stay constructive, a little voice says. Remember the mission! I can't help thinking of my daughter's admonition, jokingly, from the past.... "Saving lives... it's highly overrated!" She was kidding, ironically of course, as it's generally no fun to be the child, wife, etc., of a physician.
I'm feeling sorry for myself, so I pick up the New Yorker, and there's an article on Steve Earle. I know the name. Heck, I met him on the Nation Cruise in December. Remarkable story. His wife, Allison is a looker and a fine singer. So, to be sure I have this right, and because I can't fall asleep, and it's a good thing I didn't try, because the 6th floor calls to announce that the transplant recipient has arrived, and the coordinator wanted me called. No labs, and no action, and now its
2:30 A.M. and there is no way that I can fall asleep. To give him the fresh frozen plasma, I'm going to have to dialyze him, at what, 4:00 A.M. So now the schedule is playing out.
I google Steve and Allison and sister, Shelby, and I'm listening to Steve on KCRW's internet archive. I respect the guy, but I lean to Tom Paxton and Phil Ochs, but I like what he has to say between songs.... He quotes somebody who was asked if he believed in God. "I do, but I don't like him." So, I have to like Steve. I learn from Wiki that Allison and Shelby's father murdered her mother in a drunken fit leaving the girls orphans.
Sunflowers, country singers, grandchildren, transplants, Father's Day, Le Mans.... I can't even worry about Hamas and Fatah, Israel, Iran, more Americans dying in Iraq to keep the gas coming to my Porsche so we can keep doing transplants and wait for the sunflowers to bloom. This is what happens when I can't sleep.