The first time a doctor said to me "Your platelet count is a bit low, I'm going to send you to a hematologist," I said, "OK" and thought nothing of it. A hematologist is a blood specialist. "They'll call you to confirm an appointment," the doctor said.
Then I got a call from Tennessee Oncology and nearly fell out of my chair. Turns out the two are related (you can read about it here), and I've been going there ever since. Dr. Barton retired in the second year, and now I see Dr. Jeremy McDuffie. Every year, sometimes twice a year, depending on my platelet count. I find Tennessee Oncology to be, frankly, an inspirational place. A forward-looking, positive place. No, really. Need a good place to contemplate your blessings? Go sit in the waiting room of Tennessee Oncology.
• • •
There's always a bit of waiting involved, so I've always got a book with me. (Actually, my Kindle.) And Dr. McDuffie always wants to know what I'm reading, wants to talk about that, wants reading recommendations. (Now—since I keep a list of every book I read by year—I always walk in with a list printed off.) Then he gets out my numbers, and he tells me that with that month's platelet count, I could have, say, some kind of outpatient surgery—gallbladder, maybe—but not open-heart surgery, not without some preparation. It's something different every time, and it just tickles me.
Last month, we talked about the state of the medical profession here in a Middle Tennessee that is insane with population growth, dealing with a baby boom generation (mine) that was expected to peak (in terms of needing medical attention) in 2020 but has now been pushed out to 2030 by experts. He's concerned that we continue to work, when the science indicates that our efficiency capabilities start declining after age 60, which means that the post-60 folks should be actively training their replacements. (But they probably aren't, because, well, we think we're fine.) And currently—not just in Mid-Tenn—there's not enough doctors around to take care of all this growth in the number of patients seeking medical attention of some sort.
I ask him if I should encourage my science-inclined granddaughter to become a doctor (to fill the demand) and he quickly says no. "Not if she wants to have a life too." This makes me so sad. For him, for all doctors, for the family and friends of people who are doctors.
I tell him I am still working, at age almost-71. I like my work, and I can't see any diminishment of my editing capabilities. No replacement to train, because I'm freelance, but I have lost a bit of my vast vocabulary, which is frustrating. I tell him my general practitioner has made me an appointment with a "dementia doctor" (appointment wait time: ten months) to make sure my mind's not drifting away. He tells me, "You do not have dementia, Jamie" and laughs out loud. Made my day.
• • •
In 2016 I wrote on Facebook: "Finished Paul Kalanithi's When Breath Becomes Air last night; cried in bed. What a loss for his family, what a loss for all of us, but particularly for neurosurgery patients who might have been operated on by him in the future. In an odd bit of synchronicity, my hematologist informed me this morning that my platelet count of 83K is nothing to worry about, that I could still have surgery … but not neurosurgery; the numbers have to be higher for that."
No comments:
Post a Comment