Lingua Frantic

Grant is in the hospital.

Monday night, we’re eating dinner, and Grant bites into a piece of grilled endive, not normally considered one of your more hazardous foods. Next thing I know he is grimacing and spitting and trying to rid himself of something that just stuck him in some tender mouth part. He can’t do it, he can’t see anything, the urgent-care doc we eventually end up seeing an hour or so later can’t see anything. Go home, get a good night’s sleep, and if you don’t feel any better you can see an ENT guy tomorrow. Tuesday afternoon, ENT guy takes an X-ray and also does a visual inspection, can’t see anything. Last night (after we’d waited and wondered all day, natch) ENT guy calls back, says he thinks he sees some smallish foreign body on the X-ray but he’s not sure what, be at the hospital at 9 for a CAT-scan to be followed by surgery later in the day. The CAT-scan confirms that there’s something there, ENT guy assures Grant that he’ll have it out in two seconds, figures he just has to get some light on the subject, grab the end of the thing and pull. Only he has Grant there, a patient etherized upon a table, and he can't find it. Whatever it is is wedged horizontally across the back of Grant's tongue. The poor man has lost at least 5 pounds in 3 days. So ENT guy transfers Grant to a more specialized hospital for surgery tomorrow morning.

I am trying to concentrate on being able to play Linda Ronstadt at full volume (I love Linda Ronstadt. Grant hates Linda Ronstadt.) to avoid dealing with the fact that I am just this side of barking mad worried. I’d rather deal with 48 straight hours of Bartok at full volume (Grant loves Bartok. I hate Bartok.).