Fancy Names and White Coats Don't Scare Me

I'm sitting in Dave's hospital room at 6:45 in the morning in order to tackle his neurosurgeon.  They don't do rounds at normal times of the day.  I assume this is because most people didn't become brain surgeons to talk to people.  I have compassion and understanding for this-- to a very limited degree.  When it comes to my family I don't do avoidance and non-communication very well.

So here I sit. Chatting with my brother about his annoyances with the night time ICU staff and how benedryll makes him do funny things in the night whilst waiting on a team of alpha male insanity to walk into the room in white coats.  I lay in wait. Armed with my lap top and questions from my soon-to-be doctor friend who's in Ireland or is it Scotland? I don't know. I am prepared.

I don't know if you know me. But I don't do mornings. So here I am with my list of questions, cup of coffee and attempting to suppress my already bubbling attitude. I have dealt with surgeons before and our alpha personalities never quite mesh-- I suppose I'm one of those people that isn't scared by big letters after your name and teams of doctors in fancy white coats.  I realize that behind that facade they are people who are inherently broken just like me. With this reality I know that we are quite the same. I am not one to back down.

I suppose what I'm looking for is a prognosis-- worst case/best case scenario. I want to know how invasive the tumor really was and when the pathology will come back. I want to know when and if they're going to let him out of the ICU or a good estimation of when that will happen. Then, if they're good little doctors and answer all my questions, I might... MIGHT bring them cookies tomorrow. If they're lucky.