Visit to the Nephrologist
Charged by my doctor with having weak kidneys, the other day, on the 10th, I braved the wilds of the Outside World (which, by the way, looks weirder every time I slide out into it) to keep my appointment with the nephrologist in Charlottesville, 45 miles away. Naturally i looked for ways not to do this, but kidneys are a serious business, and I couldn't think of a dodge that would make sense to anybody. Besides, I wasn't really that worried.
So I had a suspicious creatinine count. But if it was so crucial, why had they set the appointment so far ahead, a month? And besides, I rely on that loudest of alarm systems, pain bordering on the excruciating or at least some discomfort, to tell me that something definitely is no longer right and it's finally time to get moving. But it hadn't reported anything at all about my kidneys. It keeps up running commentaries about other physical issues almost constantly but not about that.
So I thought there was a good chance that I wouldn't be told I only had x number of weeks or months left, or that at least I wouldn't be making the sudden acquaintance of dialysis machines. I thought that also they would draw more of my blood, but happily none of that happened. They just looked at all the meds I take, took all the normal measurements, and checked a urine sample, which the doctor judged to be okay. After taking an extra thorough reading of my blood pressure, he came up with the surprising news that instead of being high, it was too low.
The upshot of things is that the doctor took me off one of my two high blood pressure meds, which was fine with me, and also on the 30th I have to return for a test that I think I have had before but right now I can't recall its name.
The doctor also told me that I have a heart murmur, and he asked if I knew it.
That was the most uncomfortable moment of that trip, because it came back to that old question of how many days, weeks, months, or years I might have left, to keep my wife company, to see how various external matters in the news and elsewhere turn out, to finish all my incomplete projects, and to start and finish other projects of great interest to me.
The number of people that have already left here, some long ago and an uncomfortable number of them younger than me, can't help but make a person keep returning to the question of how long he might have left before it's his turn, in spite of all his best efforts to avoid thinking of such things and to hold off that event as long as possible.
Isn't it strange how you can be so interested in a question, when you couldn't be more aware that you definitely do not want to know the answer.
So I had a suspicious creatinine count. But if it was so crucial, why had they set the appointment so far ahead, a month? And besides, I rely on that loudest of alarm systems, pain bordering on the excruciating or at least some discomfort, to tell me that something definitely is no longer right and it's finally time to get moving. But it hadn't reported anything at all about my kidneys. It keeps up running commentaries about other physical issues almost constantly but not about that.
So I thought there was a good chance that I wouldn't be told I only had x number of weeks or months left, or that at least I wouldn't be making the sudden acquaintance of dialysis machines. I thought that also they would draw more of my blood, but happily none of that happened. They just looked at all the meds I take, took all the normal measurements, and checked a urine sample, which the doctor judged to be okay. After taking an extra thorough reading of my blood pressure, he came up with the surprising news that instead of being high, it was too low.
The upshot of things is that the doctor took me off one of my two high blood pressure meds, which was fine with me, and also on the 30th I have to return for a test that I think I have had before but right now I can't recall its name.
The doctor also told me that I have a heart murmur, and he asked if I knew it.
That was the most uncomfortable moment of that trip, because it came back to that old question of how many days, weeks, months, or years I might have left, to keep my wife company, to see how various external matters in the news and elsewhere turn out, to finish all my incomplete projects, and to start and finish other projects of great interest to me.
The number of people that have already left here, some long ago and an uncomfortable number of them younger than me, can't help but make a person keep returning to the question of how long he might have left before it's his turn, in spite of all his best efforts to avoid thinking of such things and to hold off that event as long as possible.
Isn't it strange how you can be so interested in a question, when you couldn't be more aware that you definitely do not want to know the answer.
posted by Carl (aka Sofarsogoo) | 6:40 AM
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