Bob asked the nurse to adjust the bed as flat as it would go, so he can lie on his stomach, which is the most comfortable position for him. The hospital bed also has a built-in scale, so after adjusting the scale, she weighed him. 115 pounds. I nearly fainted.
"Oh my god," I gasped. "You weigh even less than I thought! That alone warrants this hospital stay, Bob." Bob has a small frame, built like a marathon runner; even so, 115 is alarming when his healthy weight should be closer to 130. "Here," I picked up the hospital menu, "we're going to order you the cheeseburger—make that a double—and fries, a chocolate malt . . ."
I'm not sure how long we waited, but eventually a man entered the room and introduced himself as Dr. Shafiq. He immediately started asking Bob questions about his current situation, how long this had been going on, what he's done up till now, to list all meds he's taking. When Bob mentioned the cholesterol medication and daily aspirin he's been taking for two years, Dr. Shafiq asked why. Bob told him about his heart attack.
"You had a heart attack?" Dr. Shafiq stared at Bob. "How could that be? You look so trim, and, well, disregarding why you're here, appear to be very healthy . . ." Bob told him that the heart attack was probably the result of radiation he'd had for the Hodgkin's he had as a child. Dr. Shafiq dropped his pen on his clipboard and simply stared at Bob. "Dear god, young man, you have been through so much . . . more than one person should ever have to go through in his life . . ." He finally picked up his pen, scribbled more notes, and then looked at Bob and told him that he was finally in the right place. He would see to it that the right people are alerted to his situation, so we can get to the bottom of what is going on.
Dr. Shafiq eventually excused himself, leaving us alone. A few moments of silence passed. "Wow," I finally said. "You don't expect that kind of compassion from a doctor now, do you?" Bob agreed. It was after 8 p.m. when I finally kissed him goodnight, and went home to feed the doggies and crawl into bed.
Bob ended up staying at United for 3 days. His parents came up to be with him during the day; I stopped by before and after work, just to say "hi," to see what, if anything, was new. He underwent another MRI (#3 since this all started; they wanted a post-surgery MRI), then another one. A mass was detected in his lower sacral region (right in the area where Bob has been experiencing all this pain . . . go figure . . .), and the last MRI was taken lower than the first ones, to get a clear view of the mass. Then, a biopsy on the mass was ordered, to find out exactly what it is. Bob met with a neurosurgeon and was supposed to talk with an oncologist while he was at United, but that was postponed until the results of the biopsy and other tests were ready. Not sure why the oncologist at this point; I was hoping it was just standard hospital protocol, when an unidentified mass is found on an MRI.
Bob called me one night, to relay the day's events for him, and then told me that Dr. Shafiq came into his room, stood by his bedside and told Bob that he was going to make it his personal mission to make sure everything is done to help him become healthy again. Bob started crying as he relayed this story to me, which once again turned my tear faucets back on. At that point, we decided Dr. Shafiq is an angel. Feels good to know someone in his position is going to bat for Bob.
Bob was finally released on Saturday, December 19th, with more pain pills and was told he would be contacted within a few days, regarding the results of the MRI and biopsy. More waiting . . .
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