Today was Clinic Day number two, and I have just now recovered from the early morning trip to the UW.
In what is just this side of sadistic, Clinic starts at 6:30 a.m. for pre- and post- kidney and liver transplants. I have known this for the last seven years, but have been indulged into a pleasant denial by the fact that pre-transplant patients "only" have to be at the UW by 7:30 for labs, and later clinic appointments.
But Newbies, like me, they make start at 6:30. There are very good reasons for this, but suffice it to say that leaving the house by 5:40 when it takes about 20 minutes just to roll over is a little difficult. I think that for the docs there's an added benefit in that they get to see patients at their absolute WORST (and really, no one, no one, can be enough of a morning person to be happy with this). There's a minor benefit in that the most recent operees (?) get to have the earliest clinic appointments, which begin at 8:00. In between the times there is a foggy period of sitting around the waiting room, trying to eat, and tucking into the 8 a.m. drugs.
I think the yogurt marketing peeps are really missing a great opportunity.
But anyway, I dragged my sorry patooty out of bed, cajoled Sarah into waking up -- we were much more organized this morning -- in time to start Gary & Kathy's CRV and be waiting for Marcie to go with us. (Which only hints at the ... oh, I know there's a better word than coordination ... that all of this takes.) Pushing through the morning stiffness to make it down the stairs (with a silent "ow" for each step) and crossing fingers for no wrecks on I-5.
Waiting to see the surgeon, who takes out the rest of my staples (and the heavens open with singing), reviews my morning labs, prescribes baby aspirin to balance out my platelet count, and turns me over to the patient coordinator, "M". As in MI-5 "M", yeah? Whoa, there's a memory gap I must fix soon. Wonder if I have any Bond films around...
Ready to crash on the ride home. Headache from the meds kicking in with a vengeance, and the yogurt not feeling all that tasty anymore. I got home and napppppppppped away.
But hey, at 5:15 this morning I was looking at the most amazing full moon set right on the centerline of 6th Ave -- behind the traffic lights, that is -- and by 6:20 we were bombing around the exit onto 520 singing "Lady Marmalade" to the platinum light of dawn over the Cascades. That kind of gift has gotta count for something.