"We make an incision around the rear curve of the ear, then we lift the ear up and operate."I hardened my face by biting the inside of my lip and nodded.
"The ear drum we've been following has retracted into the small bones of the middle ear where we can't see it. It's time to perform a Tympanoplasty." The doctor handed me a stack of paper describing the condition and the procedure.
Since infancy, The Mayor has suffered through countless ear aches and he had ear tubes surgically inserted at thirteen months.
The otolaryngologist eyed me suspiciously.
Outwardly I must have appeared docile as a cow, slow and uncomprehending.
Maybe he wanted me to react, maybe he was expecting me to have a million questions.
Maybe he was expecting me to break into tears.
I was simply trying not to.
The day after Christmas, The Mayor has to lie perfectly still for a 6:30 a.m. CAT scan.
On New Year's Eve, we'll discuss the "surgical strategy" with his doctor.
"This is treatable," I keep telling myself. "Count your blessings."Still, the mother instinct is so amazingly strong... I really don't want to do this. I want to demand they operate on my ear instead.