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Show 198 Fishing "Let's go fishing then," he is saying and I nod my head in agreement. Dr. Howard has returned to my room. We know from the protocol that the catheter he previously placed is still patent. We know from the occasional lump in my back that there is at least one dural leak. And we know that the blood patches did not seal it. It will only be a matter of time before I will massively overdose into coma and possibly unto death. Or, conversely, perhaps slip into an irreversible vegetative state crisis while in the constant massive spasms of under-dose - a result of the muscles using all the available oxygen, leaving only inadequate amounts for the vital organs. The only option that now remains is to surgically explore the dura, hopefully to find the offending piece of catheter within it that we all suppose is causing the leak, along with any other leaks that we are sure must also be there. He is nodding his head back to me. "I'll put it on the schedule as soon as possible," he is saying, looking at his wristwatch. He is aware of the dangers of waiting. "I may bump some people and do you first thing tomorrow morning instead of last thing tomorrow night." Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. I am not wanting to inconvenience anyone else or - worse - expose another of his patients to their own life-threatening situations, but he is dismissing my fears |