Part Fifty One: Final Visit

Of course, it would happen that the day after I act as though I am done regularly updating this blog, I would have something of importance to say.

This morning I had my one month doctor's visit at the DOB. My Dad also happened to have an appointment around the same time and my parents ended up spending the night at my house the night before.

After several miserable visits to the DOB, I was prepared for an unnecessarily long wait. What I wasn't quite prepared for was a jam-packed waiting room. There were probably about 50 people crammed in the little waiting room when I got there. There were so many people that a few unlucky souls had to stand. As if waiting an hour for your appointment isn't bad enough, try waiting for an hour standing up!

As mentioned previously, the magazine selection at the DOB isn't the best and I remembered to bring a book this trip. I settled in for the long wait and was thrilled when my name was called 45 minutes later. The nurse asked how I was doing and I told her that I was excellent. I tried to be chipper, even though I knew inside that I was about to be tossed in an exam room and forgotten about for another hour or so.

To my surprise, it only took 5 or 10 minutes for the first doctor to arrive. He remembered me from my last visit, one week out, and asked if I was still picking at my scabs. He took a quick look, prodded around some, and asked how I was feeling. I told him that I was fine and he promised to send one of the surgeons in to talk to me. Of course, I'd heard that song and dance before and knew that when he said someone would be "right in", that actually meant that someone would be with me in another 45 minutes. I had barely settled back into my book when Dr. M came strolling in.

I'd seen Dr. M before but this was the first time we'd actually spoken. He seemed a little confused and was struggling to remember if he'd been involved in my surgery. He said something like, "Did I do your Dad's or..."

Then I smiled and said, "I don't know... but I DO know that I have a picture of you holding my kidney." (Maybe I should send him a copy for his collection.)

After a little laugh, he looked at my incisions and he asked if I had any problems. I said I had none and then he gave me some shocking news. He said that they didn't need to see me again!

That's right. He said they didn't need to see me ever again... unless I wanted to come and see them for any reason (even if it wasn't kidney related).

I was a little confused by this information, as I'd been previously told that I would have to return at 1, 3, 6, 9 and 12 months after my surgery. Of course, we've already established that these visits are a waste of my time... so I wasn't one to question or argue with the doctor about it. If he says, I don't have to come back... then I don't really feel a need to go back.

So that's that.

Meanwhile, my Dad continues to improve. His heart doctor saw him yesterday for the first time since the surgery and was amazed at how much "younger" he looked. Apparently he still looks a lot older than my mom though. As we were leaving the DOB an older man with a walker was coming up the sidewalk toward us. He struggled to move to one side as we passed and my dad came waddling behind us. For some reason, the man decided to ask my dad if my mother and I were his daughters. My dad gently corrected him but the man just laughed and accused my dad of "robbing the cradle." Funny.

I've gotten a few responses regarding my request for other stories and I hope to bring some of those to you soon. If anyone else is interested in sharing anything at all, please email me at: porkchoppress@gmail.com