Deconstruction continued….

There’s that Vaseline haze that covers memories when so many of them get lumped into a span of time that it’s hard to distinguish them. What remains are the notable events—those that jut out way above the blur….

In March, the plumber finally showed up, and lay in all the pipes necessary for the radiators, fixtures, and washing machine. He would come back, he promised—in that way he had of promising everything else—when the floors and tile were in and he could install the fixtures for the bath and laundry room .

Around the same time, my husband saw the surgeon for a recheck. From a recovery standpoint, he was ahead of the curve for most lobectomy patients, even those decades younger than him. His energy was coming back, he was walking more, doing some strength training, and his oxygen level was consistently above 97%. The surgeon was immensely pleased, and ready to pass the rest of my husband’s care to the oncologist who’d been assigned to him. He did give us a warning however: while the 21 lymph nodes he removed showed no evidence of cancer, the large size of the tumor put my husband at a greatly increased risk for recurrence. The surgeon suggested that starting immunotherapy treatments right away might prevent that…a decision which the oncologist would have to make….

***

Because our addition needed electricity as well as plumbing, it was now time for the wiring to be put in. The best place for the wires to take that curve from the existing structure’s walls to the new one’s, was through our powder room ceiling.

In his infinite wisdom, the contractor said the whole powder room ceiling would have to come down to accommodate the routing, which would mean days with only one working bathroom, not to mention the choking plaster dust that would circulate through the house. The electrician, who was within earshot when the contractor was talking, interrupted. “We don’t need the ceiling down. We can just cut a trench and pull the wires through that. It will be enough.”

There’s got to be special place in heaven for people who can figure out the best and least invasive way to get jobs done. While it was becoming clear that if there was a dumb, messy, intrusive, and costly way to do a job, or an equally dumb, slapdash, and shoddy way to do it, our contractor was adept at thinking of and recommending either or both. As a result, we relied on the smarts and talents of a handful of people working for him. Thus, a trench was cut in our powder room ceiling, and the wires were drawn through it.

Meanwhile, the oncologist, who didn’t give us a reason, decided that the lobectomy was a “cure,” and my husband would not need immunotherapy treatments. My husband asked, pointedly, “What if the cancer comes back?” To which the oncologist replied, “I don’t think it will come back. But, if it does, it will be the kind of thing you’ll die with rather than from.”

We decided to trust him, despite what the surgeon said, and made the required appointment for a follow-up CT scan in six months….

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