Just got home from visiting Tom. Brought him some more books. I guess the toilet is fixed and he had a good lunch (for a change), but when I left his meds were late. He also said some of the aides don't take his blood pressure properly -- so no wonder it's often low.

He's depressed -- and I'm depressed especially because he's depressed. Dover Rehab is a VERY depressing place. And feeling as if the future of his voice is at risk certainly isn't helping. But his primary care doc and Nancy, the nurse administrator at Dover Rehab are working FOR him, at least.

We still haven't a clue as to why the W-D cardiologist won't sign off on the surgery. Unless, maybe, it's in retaliation for Tom taking his cancer care to Mass General. And after 6 years, Tom now lacks confidence in Dr. Cunningham, his cardiologist -- who will be changing his defib battery in a couple weeks -- because he can't get an answer from HIM as to why he won't sign off on the surgery.

Keep in mind, what postponed the surgery from last Dec. was a vascular problem -- carotid disease. But his VASCULAR doctor says the disease is not bad and he not only has signed off on the surgery, but can't think of a reason why it shouldn't be approved by the cardiologists.

If this jeopardizes Tom's chances of regaining his voice, I'm going to do SOMEBODY some major damage. (Like Calvin, in the book -- the fictional autobiography -- I have a flamethrower. And I'm fantasizing about gelignite suppositories.)

Collected hugs and good wishes at The Press Room (as well as indigestion; I shouldn't have ordered the fried fish), sang a few songs, and gathered greetings for Tom, but, ya know, it's difficult for me to be there without him.

I'm confused, angry, frustrated...oh yeah, and tired. I need to talk to Dr. Z -- the prospect of radiation makes me very nervous. I need more information, more reassurances, and maybe some ANSWERS from both cardiologists. I desperately need to see Tom in a better frame of mind. And now, of course, it's the weekend, and I don't know what if anything can be accomplished. (Other than getting Tom's car over to him tomorrow, so he can escape in between antibiotic treatments.)

Tom is both looking forward to the party tomorrow and afraid he really just doesn't want to be around people. I feel so damned helpless -- I don't know what I can do for him.

Maybe I can lay abed a bit tomorrow, get caught up on some of the local free papers, and pretend life is somewhat normal.

Linn