Mark and I took an impromptu anniversary trip to Chicago this weekend. After a phone call to Mark’s parents to take Zoe (which they accepted gleefully) and to my parents to check in on Daisy (also, terribly willingly–especially considering that Daisy likes to jump up and kiss my mom on the mouth), we headed off to the mod/posh W Lakeshore Hotel secured for a bargain on Hotwire. Mark and I were treated to in-room massages shortly after our arrival (a gift from the insanely generous Lake Drive ladies), and the tension of waiting for our Monday appointment seemed to melt away. The swanky digs, a weekend of adult conversation, a little H&M shopping, a Mamet play, all did wonders to ease our anxiety. The hotel spa’s moniker was “bliss.” Written on the soap, etched onto goody bags, it kept reminding me of the ignorance of our weekend, waiting for the next report.
On Sundays before our Monday appointments, I’ve grown accustomed to picking up my x-rays at Blodgett and digging eagerly into the envelope for the accompanying radiology report. Today we were dismayed to learn that the doctors have put the kibosh on this practice. Too much information for the patients before the doctor can talk to them about it. Horrors! Patients knowing what’s going on in their own bodies? Say it ain’t so!!
But, oh well. Mark and I have another night of ignorance before our 8:30 appointment in the morning. Of course, I’ve already held the x-rays up to the light and speculated as to what each shadow means. I really can’t be trusted with these things. You know how I did in med school.
So, another night to wait. But, man, did we have a nice weekend. Mark and I at our grown up spa and Zoe at her own personal grandparent spa.