Thank You, Come Again

Today was my semi-annual check that I’m peeing okay.

A quick re-cap:  high blood pressure led to renal ultrasound led to finding cysts on my kidneys led to regular trips to a nephrologist.  Every six months for the last few years, I get poked for a vial of blood, and then a week or so later go sit and wait to hear what horrors were revealed.

Thing is, between the blood pressure medication I’m on and my weight loss, there hasn’t been any horror.  A couple of indicators have been high here and there, but nothing worrisome.  And so these visits have pretty much become a routine where I get weight, get my blood pressure checked, asked what medicine I’m taking, get my ankles squeezed, and then asked if I’m having any trouble peeing.  For which I pay $40 and then it’s time to schedule the next go-round.  Which makes me roll my eyes a little.  I could get this done with a phone call mostly and save myself some time.  I mean, if everything is fine, just pass me along.  If I start peeing blood, sure, then I’ll get my ass down there.

But I know I really should consider myself lucky.  Not simply because my kidneys are behaving themselves, but because this nephrologist’s office is a well-oiled machine.  Most times, I’ll get there early, and I’m in a room waiting for the doctor before my appointment is even scheduled to begin.  One time, I got there so early, I actually finished up and left before my appointment was supposed to start.  So I really shouldn’t look a gift doc in the mouth.

Besides, it’s only two times a year.  Not a huge inconvenience.  And really, that’s about the maximum number of times I really want anybody inquiring as to how the peeing is going.


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