Blood, Guts, and Graphics

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Doctor’s again yesterday. A year ago, these hours spent sitting on paper lined examination tables seemed to drag on tortuously. Now I hardly blink. This appointment was short. Out and home again in three hours. I feel almost hurried, and I need to sit a bit.

Dr. Blake reminds me of my childhood hero, Amy, the bright navy pilot who as a child sat on my father’s shoulders and said she’d marry him someday. Despite my frustration with and general distrust of the medical community, I like her. She listens. She gets this funny look on her face when she discovers something. She’s not giving up on me yet.

Today I am here to talk about logistics. First it was Seattle, and then it was “no, not Seattle,” and then I had a consultation with the old school doc in the valley, whose nurse told me to call back to the clinic and see about getting state support. You don’t want to pay for this on your own, sweetie. I know. I called the clinic. “You’re supposed to go to Seattle,” they say. I give the phone a look of disgust. It tells me to make an appointment. I’m beginning to hate my guts.

Doctor Blake looks at me like I’m worried over nothing.
“You got an appointment, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Then, go. I just want you to get this done. You’ve got an appointment in less then two weeks. That’s great.”
I sigh. I like her. I might just name my firstborn son after her. Or a goldfish, at least.

She asks if I’m still dizzy. I am. We could do the tests over again, if I want. There are two things the doctors are required to ask me during every visit: if I’d like the tests repeated and if I am pregnant. Dr. Blake is very smart. The first time we met I told her about my last doctor, whose repeated diagnosis was “maybe you’re pregnant,” to which I insisted I was not, and to which he replied, “how do you know?” Dr. Blake is smart. She never once asked that question – she simply handed me a cup and told me to fill it up, and we moved on.

Our conversations are simple now. She leaves the rulebook at the door, and we talk:

“That was in September, almost a month ago now, that we tested. But that’s a good test. We can do it again, it’s up to you, it’s your blood.”
“Not if you don’t think it’s necessary.”
“No. Let me just take your blood pressure then and…”
Her face lights up.
“…no I’ll just take your pulse that’s better but wait I’ll get my cool laser thing.”
She doesn’t really say “cool laser thing” but she might as well. Technically, it’s a pulse oximeter. She has a whole bunch of these high-tech devices that she keeps in her office, and she’s a geek about them. I mean that in a very approving way. And the cool laser thing really is cool.
Dr. Blake takes my pulse sitting down. She looks serious and thrilled at the same time. I think she’s seriously worried about me, and she’s thrilled with her cool laser thing. She tells me to stand up and takes my pulse again. She watches the machine for a while. “Breathe,” she tells me. I stare at the wall and wait. I try to pretend I’m not fascinated by the laser show going on around my index finger. I’m wondering why I’m standing on this little ten inch step. We both know I’m bound to fall off.

“You’re giving me some blood.”
Dr. Blake is scribbling numbers on the exam table paper.
“That’s positive, thirty plus beat difference, that’s way positive, you’re giving me blood.”
My blood pressure sitting is around 70bm. Standing it shoots to 100-105.
“It should be ten max,” she says. “Maybe ten. But you’re either definitely anemic, which the test last month said you weren’t, or you’re down a quart of blood.”
That would explain why my legs have fallen asleep sitting here and won’t wake up. I want to join them. I’m tired.

To figure out if I’m low on blood, they take some more. Dr. Blake says she’ll call by Saturday afternoon with the results. I don’t know what difference it will make, but I know the procedure: test until you find something.

Another doctor visit down. More blood in to the labs. That means more bills coming.

I go back to designing graphics and trying to learn the tricks of Macromedia. Style sheets and flash code aren’t as exciting as lasers, but I’ve had enough of that for one day. I’m getting better at this program. Not surprising really. That’s what I do on the days when I’m not visiting Dr. Blake.

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