Click images for desktop size: "Dream Stream" by Matthew Turner Yesterday I saw the cardiologist. I was surprised at the high level of care.
It started with me meeting a nurse who verified the data already in the computer and added some things specific to the cardiologist.
I then met the doctor's assistant. She did the vitals, examined my drug and pill bottles. She noticed the awkward placement of my arm and the exhausted cast to my face. She asked about the arm and then asked if I'd had Bells Palsy in the past.
I was impressed that she noticed. We went through that history. Everything was checking out fine. My blood was well oxygenated. My pulse was reasonable and my blood pressure was within the allowed parameters.
Then I met the oncologist. This also surprised me. It was a thoroughness I wasn't used to. He drew the blood himself. He even asked reasonable questions like if I still felt the leukemia was in remission. I liked that he had enough sense to know that I was a veteran of 4 trials and chemo's. I do know what the onset feels like.
Next was the doctor in charge of the rehab of my heart. He ordered an EKG and then was thinking about whether or not a sonogram would be needed. A sonogram of the heart is cool. Its exactly like the sonogram they do of expectant mothers only its of your heart.
He asked me why I hadn't seen any cardiac specialists. I felt obliged to tell him about how Canadian Immigration had falsely arrested me and thrown me into a Maximum Security Prison. I told him that they insisted at my hearing that I was receiving excellent care.
He said rubbish. Throwing me in prison was illegal. I should sue them.
I told him that my only real concern right now was finding a job and getting healthy again.
His response was, "You're a lot calmer about this than I would be or anyone else for that matter. I guess, in the circumstances, that's a good thing." He was one of those guys who talked with
Click images for desktop size: "Eric Clapton's Les Paul" commas.
They wheeled in the EKG machine. The nurse wired me up and ran the test. When it was over she let me look at the tape. I noticed it didn't look much like my memory of the last EKG I'd had. There was an extra abrasive line. In my last EKG tape there was the oily discordant line that signifies a healthy life on top and the same jangly bit on the bottom save for one out of place tight squiggle. The squiggle was the heart attack. This new tape looked the same on top but there was a second hard pressed squiggle in the bottom row. I put it off on a different machine and that they'd hooked up at least four more wires to me than they had on the last EKG.
Next I met the lead doctor, still not the guy whose name was on my appointment. This was the guy I'd be dealing with on a day to day basis.
I liked him. He was friendly and professional. He looked at the EKG and then asked me about this story about Canadian Immigration. He also said I should sue them. In the USA Immigration cops pull that stuff all the time and now face criminal charges for it. He got very angry, in a scary muted way, about the way I was treated. It overcame him for a minute. I wanted to ask him if he'd lost someone to with held care but thought I didn't know him well enough to get into his personal life.
He pulled himself together. He asked me about the leukemia and about the diabetes. He agreed that the insulin was most likely a
Click images for desktop size: "Glenn Miller" catalyst. He said the psychology of what was happening to me was pretty much being ignored, the stress just being ignored while they dealt with the symptoms. He said I should expect or demand a higher level of care from his team. They depended on me to be honest and to try and ignore my normal denial and calm acceptance of the hand I've been dealt. He dais his team's objective was to see me live as long as I deserved and in a good happy way.
He then asked me about my right arm. I explained the frozen shoulder. He said, "You sure do seem to get the full rift of side effects. I don't know how you stay so calm."
He then asked me if I had any numbness in my hand. I told him my pinkie and ring finger had started to go numb, sometimes they were painful. He nodded and then touched a spot on my elbow; "Do you get like an electric jolt right around here at times?"
I was surprised, "Yeah!"
"You have to see an orthopedist as soon as possible. You're running the risk of some irreparable nerve damage. Its your ulnar nerve that's damaged."
I felt awkward describing the plan I was seeing him on, mainly because I barely understand it other
Click images for desktop size: "Deadly Angel" by Unknown than its free. I was able to get out that I was told it would be about a month before I could see an orthopedist. He said, "I can get you in to see an orthopedist tomorrow. This should have been dealt with weeks ago. I guess if they ignored a heart attack its too much to expect them to notice nerve damage."
I promised I'd call the program director first thing tomorrow (today.)
He gave me his card and said I was to call him first thing about anything related to my heart. If i had to take a nitro pill or go to emergency I was to call him. We made an appointment to meet again in 30 days. He shook my hand and nearly tore my arm with. He grimaced an apology at me and said he was going to meet the doctor who I'd be seeing shortly.
It was a while so I went through all the cabinets. I figured they must have heard about me. There was nothing left lying about that would have been worth playing with. While doing my searching I overheard some conversation in the hallway and realized that they were talking about me. I heard the words, leukemia, diabetic from chemo and now heart attack. I stopped listening when I heard the word prison. I decided to look harder for toys. When none were forthcoming I played with the 3D raised plastic poster of a heart attack.
Then the "Great Man" came in. He was older but not yet elderly. He looked distinguished, smart and concerned. He shook my hand and then said, "Hey! Your the man with the dog!"
I knew what he meant. He went on, "My wife's a volunteer at the hospital. I've seen you and your dog on the cardiology floor. She's remarkable! The doctor was filling me in on your story. You should write a book!" We then spent ten minutes discussing world medicine and his opinion of the Health Care Reform which, funnily, did not contradict my own feelings in any major way. He agreed that health care cost too much. We also agree that the European systems were fine for primary care but horrid for complications. He's on a few research committees in Canada and Europe and has a similar (from a different perspective) hands on experience of the systems. He also
Click images for desktop size: "Dials" by Eric Freitas told me that none of the other doctors or nurses knew I was a "free" patient at the cardiology clinic. If I didn't tell them they'd never know. This was his own idea and he felt no need to confide in them or seek their approval or disapproval.
As I think that any doctor who seeks to fight death face to face needs more than a touch of arrogance I liked his attitude.
While we were conversing I sneezed. This hit my shoulder unbelievingly hard. I did manage to avoid my usual string of unending profanity and just go, "Oh, oh, oh."
He did a quick examination of my arm. He said I needed to see an orthopedist immediately. He asked if the pain hit around 9 or 10. I told him, "yeah."
That bought our rather enjoyable conversation to an end. He studied my EKG and decided we had to have and echo, a sonogram. He said my EKG showed damage to another part of my heart. He said, "Probably from those bastard Canadian prison doctors withholding your plavix. We'll do the echo, then you go home. I'll have one of my staff call you if there's anything that requires attention."
He then laid out a rehab program and gave me the nutritionists report. He said that since I was already on a low fat diet because of the chemo I'd have little problem with it. He detailed a low sodium diet and said it was important but less directly managed than fat. It had more to do with how I felt and how I was reacting to things.
As we parted he praised my calmness. He thought I'd have to miss this season but he could see me coaching again next year.
I liked the guy a lot more than I was expecting to.
Then I got the sonogram. It was great. I got to see my heart beating and to see the valves opening and closing, looking like greedy sea anemones grabbing for food. The tech said there was definite scaring that shouldn't be there. She brought the Great Man in and he confirmed that I'd had a serious heart attack in prison. He said it was pretty surprising I survived it at all, "Clearly you're not a man to get into a fight with. At least your heart won't ever give up. We'll look at this." Then they drew some blood to run some enzyme tests. then I saw a glorious thing. The tech did a 3D sonogram of my heart! IN COLOR! Although not the natural colors it was still cool, all green, blacks, whites and pastels. I was having a good time looking at it so the tech showed off her skill and rotated it and let me play with it for a minute.
I liked looking at my heart. I asked the tech if she got bored doing this and she said, "No. Every heart is different. Every heart teaches me something new."
As I walked home I was tired from all the blood drawn and all the time thinking and listening. Still I felt pretty good about it all, like I had a chance. I also thought that the level of care I'd recieved was very high, as good as I got at the free clinic at least.
Amazingly the best care I've gotten was either for the poor or for the rich. I feel for the people in the middle and it does just point out the need for health care reform.