So... here it is. Visit-with-the-Oncologist-for-no-reason-other-than-to-set-your-mind-at-ease day. Know what we're doing (besides swilling caffeine to combat the abject lack of sleep this whole episode has caused)? Nothing.
Not. A. Thing.
No appointment. No call from the oncologist's office to cancel the appointment, either, mind you - which could have had us driving an hour to find ourselves SOL. I'm fairly certain that you would have heard about whatever happened next on the six o'clock news, so let's all just be grateful for small favors and agree that from now on, I call to confirm if the drive takes more than 20 minutes. Even if they just called me the day before.
And the reschedule isn't for another 2 weeks. (Sleep? HAH! I Laugh in the face of rest and downtime!)
AND I have no idea - because the oncologist's office staff had no idea - what preliminary paperwork they need (copies of tests, etc) from the pediatrician, or indeed, what they had already received in advance of this appointment.
BUT - we should fax... whatever it is... to Rita at the following number.
(Let us all also bow our heads and pray grateful prayers to whatever minor gods control my pediatrician's medical group, because at least between the nurse and the medical records lady there, they were able to determine what should be sent, and set it aside for me to grab when I take Number Two to his earache follow-up appointment on Thursday.)
Now, I confess that perhaps even a crack team of medical coders and receptionists appearing in lab coats on my doorstep, charts in hand, clipboards at the ready, ballpoints cocked, armed with cellphones and dispositions tending toward ruthless tenacity would not satisfy me at this juncture. I mean, after all, this is my precious (fallen *coff*) angel's appointment we're discussing. With a jesus-fricking-christ-are-you-SERIOUS?? oncologist, for crying out loud.
Not so much.