Name This Appointment
In about an hour, I’m actually leaving my house. I’ll be going to the hospital, so that’s no bonus, but at least it’s a routine thing.
I have an appointment with my cardiologist, a little two weeks since surgery anniversary party. We’ll celebrate with a nice echocardiogram and frank talk about medications!
It’s not officially my post-op appointment — that comes November 2nd, with my surgeon (this one is with my cardiologist, who monitors me and recommended surgery). But because it is an appointment with a doctor that, if viewed on a time line, is post-surgery, there’s an issue with the official title. Maybe a grammatically nightmarish pre-post-op. Of course, it in no way matters. These are the things you think about when you’re stuck at home after surgery.
To be honest, I’m not totally dreading it. I’m pretty confident there will be no needles in weird places, and I like my cardiologist. He tells me the whole story, which is a refreshing change from the first 22 years of my life, during which I was totally left in the dark. I think my doctor’s kindness comes from being a hardcore Mets fan, which teaches more empathy than any number of years working with sick patients can.
Actually, being a Mets fans kind of makes me question his judgment. I know I wouldn’t want me making any decisions about someone else’s heart after this season. I’d most likely just say fuck it, regardless of what pressing issues tests show. I guess his recommending surgery despite the pathetic display of baseball in Queens this summer is a real credit to him.
I’ll happily report to this remarkably clear headed doctor that I spent over 26 minutes on the treadmill yesterday. I’m hoping he clears me to start biking. I may have to twist some arms for that, which will be difficult given my relative weakness. Which is why I need to start exercising again. See? Vicious cycle this surgery produces.
