So the diagnosis is....

Three abdominal pain episodes later, Pace finally went to the clinic on Monday. Three doctors look at her and decide she's having an appendicitis attack. So Pace calls me and I end up taking her to emergency.

It's not like I am living Zen moments and this is an isolated stressor. I'm in a five day countdown to the launch of a major IT initiative at work, I've got pending communications to get out and 50 people to get through training in 3 days. Then there's the mortgage negotiations...

Just to make life more interesting, Pace still does not have a Quebec Medicare card. It's been 9 months since the process started. While Pace could have been more proactive it is a case of Bureaucrats gone wild!

I have to leave Pace at the hospital and luckily the Godmother came over to baby-sit the wee one. The docs rule out a bladder infection but are stumped about the pains and decide to keep her overnight. A day later they are still puzzled so they discharge her!


So I call the Doctor back and ask him what I should tell the wee one to do if her Maman collapses from pain in the middle of the grocery store. He made an appointment for Pace to see an internalist. So while we do not have a diagnosis, the process continues just because of the sales philosophy if you don't ask for the sale you probably won't get it.

... and if it's not that, call your oncologist

Pace has been getting gut pains recently. Not the IBS that she's suffered from since I've known her. Something different in the lower right abdomen; "I have to go lie down pain." That's how bad it is.

So she goes to our local health center who says... it’s probably not appendicitis but I recommend you get a test done for a urinary tract infection, and if it's not that, call your oncologist.

Few things set me off quite like the catch all diagnoses, that usually conclude with "cancer could be the answer" thrown in for good measure and malpractice insurance. I'd rather not borrow trouble, thanks all the same.

Unreasonable fear of the unexpected...

Late this morning my cell phone started beeping at me that I had a message. I checked the call log and saw that it was my parents had called. Then as I get back to my desk there is a message on my voice mail, from an outside caller, from my parent’s number. I get worried by multiple pings.

My parents haven't called me at work for years unless it was serious. Given the pressure of my project at the moment I was bit apprehensive. Then again my parents’ calling me at work was always welcome but occasionally awkward.

At my first real software job after university Joanie our receptionist at QW Page would call over the intercom "Bob... It's your mother, line one!" The only thing that made that less embarrassing was when Joanie would announce. Peter Ross it's your therapist, line two... Thank God we're too conservative at my company for those kind of antics.

I know why I fear the worst. After all Pace, the wee one and I have been through I can rationalize my justifications. My head swims when my parents call me at work. It shouldn't, but it does.

As it turns out my parents were eating lunch and across the street and eight stories down there were some big CAT machines working on the road opposite their condo. Of the many machines Mom only knew the backhoe by name but it made me smile. Before she said goodbye she said "We miss you Bob."

I miss you too Mom and Dad.