There was an obnoxious screeching noise at 3AM this morning.

And it wasn’t Max.

Richard and I rarely use an alarm clock. It is not a common occurrence that we have cause to get up earlier than that wee hour at which we always awake. But Richard had me set the alarm for 3AM. It was important to him to be in Portland a few minutes before 6, and he wanted me, as the chauffeur, to be alert. Go figure.

We arrived at Providence’s parking lot at 5:51AM. We had our choice of a number of prime parking spots. I was delirious with the possibilities. I started to pull into one place, and then I realized the one two down was even primer. I started to back up. Richard gave me that look. We decided to go with the spot that we were already half way into.

Check-in was lickety-split, and we were hanging out in the pre-op room before you knew it. Richard was wearing the Ralph-not-quite-Lauren inspired barf green hospital gown with elegant baby blue booties and bonnet. He was radiant. I was going to take a picture, but opted against it when Richard threatened bodily harm to my smart phone.

A handful of minutes later a nurse-like person rapped on the door and entered the room. Without even looking up, she said, “Mrs. Laurer, I’m here to take you pulse and…”

Now, I knew instantly that Richard wasn’t Mrs. Laurer. Mrs. Laurer and her daughter entered the hospital simultaneously with Richard and I. We had rarely been out of each other’s view until we were moved to our private pre-op rooms. Mrs. Laurer doesn’t have beard. Richard does. That’s the easy way to tell them apart.

The nurse-like person look up and said, “You aren’t Mrs. Laurer!” She then left.

The anesthesiologist then entered and did some stuff. All good.

Time passed. Mucho time passed.

At about 8AM (one hour later,) another nurse poked her head in and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Jackson, I know you’re here and I’ll have you ready for your 9:30 surgery.”

Eventually, they figured out that Richard wasn’t Mrs. Laurer, Mr. Jackson or the other Mr. Parker and he made it to his 9:30 surgery.

Don’t ask me what happened to his 7:30 time. We didn’t ask. We were just happy that he wasn’t having a hysterectomy.

Okay, I’ve joked all I can. It wasn’t good news. The doctor did another one of those ‘oscopy’ tests. The cancer has spread. It is no longer operable.

I don’t know what to say, because I don’t know a damn thing. We meet tomorrow (at some unknown time) with the Oncologist we have already met and a Radiologist.