Eight: Dr. Varna of UCSF, First Appointment May 1st, 2009

Pete & Joni's wedding September 2006

We trekked out to UCSF early one Friday morning to see Dr. Varna, our outside opinion. Dan had taken the day off work. The plan was this: first the appointment, find out her recommendation, and then drive down to Pacific Grove on the Monterey Peninsula, to Asilomar, where we would not only mull over Varna’s words, but take a break from it all at the ocean’s edge.

We got off the freeway at the old Fell Street exit and proceeded to Divisadero Street.

“Did you take the medical envelope?” Dan asked.

“No,” I said.

He was silent. I could hear him sink.

“Well work it out,” I said.

But it sounded like he knew it wouldn’t work out, and I didn’t understand why. In the envelope left behind on our bedroom dresser, while we packed a weekend’s worth of clothes and other belongings into the car, were all the medical records and one disc.

Arriving at the medical center, we parked, and took the elevator up. Inside the building, we walked through what could only be described as a construction area. They were ripping up the former office spaces for a good reason, probably, but the disruption mirrored our own situation—how torn apart Dan was at the idea of surgery, how they wanted to rip him open, and too, how we had forgotten the envelope. The grey-blue walls looked like a hand had just smashed through them, with the random lines of destruction.

We walked to the end of the hall, where we found a small waiting room with a moon-shaped desk. These walls were in tact and quiet. A couple of other patients sat on the blue chairs, idling through magazines. Both Dan and I went up to the front desk. This was different than at Kaiser, where Dan only went up. The women here were busy, but friendly.

We explained our situation, that we had left the records behind. Our expectations were raised when one of the staff zoned in our grave need for this to happen now, immediately placing a call to Kaiser, and havubg them fax over the records. Her efficiency was impressive, different than the slower pace over at Kaiser. The only items missing were the two sonograms, the early one of his colon and the recent one of the liver.

After talking to another women who came out from the back, the woman who had called Kaiser spoke to us. 


"The doctor won't see you," she said.


Dan and I stared at each other in disbelief. The woman tried as best she could, her voice calm and encouraging, yet firm, as she balanced the many tasks as hand. This was hard to not take personally. We were focused on this, needed it to happen now.

I explained to her that when I had made the appointment weeks before they didn’t ask for the disc of the liver because it had not even been ordered by the doctor, a follow-up procedure to check for metastasization. All this means is even if we had brought the envelope, the doctor would have refused to see us because we didn’t have every single record.

Everything hinged on Varma’s opinion at this moment, and Dixon offered us a surgery date in enough time after this appointment for us to consider her opinion. It all fit together perfectly, but it was falling apart now like a house of cards, each piece so fragile and without weight. She did not know us, this doctor. Dan was an unknown record.

The woman offered to rebook the appointment for the only time that was available for them—the following Friday. Complication. We had a surgery date for the Monday following the new appointment with Varma. We would have to cancel the surgery date because there wouldn’t be enough time to mull over Varna’s perspective, the whole idea in seeing her. We took the appointment anyhow.

As we walked out, Dan theorized that the doctor probably had over-booked her schedule on purpose and needed an excuse to drop someone so she could get out on time for her afternoon appointments, which we had been told by the desk person, was not with patients.