I write you today with some trepidation, knowing that I will lose at least my favourite follower because of the subject matter. After the last post I published on gout, J. informed me that she would stop reading my blog if I wrote ever again on this subject. Her point was valid, but I can’t just make this whole saga go away. I have provided due warning for what follows.
Lost readership or not, I know you’re dying to hear about my visit with my new specialist on Friday. I told you the appointment was upcoming, I solicited creative doctor names, and now I have to tell you how it went. I’ve said before that I’d never leave you on tenterhooks, mostly because tenterhooks sounds painful.
Dr. Whatever–I’ve not yet committed to a name–was lovely and thorough. She reviewed my medical history, and then completed a physical exam, bending all my joints this way and that. She questioned me about joint stiffness because deposits are inevitable after prolonged high blood levels of uric acid. I may be uptight, but I am not stiff, I told her. “It must be the yoga,” I said.
Dr. Whatever informed me that I might be surprised to notice my joints moving more freely as these deposits disintegrate with the help of my magic pills. I couldn’t help but ask, “Will I be less clumsy?” She laughed at this question, which was probably her kind way of saying no, you will forever be a klutz.
Then she took a look at my not-so-little inflamed finger, the one that has been haunting me for weeks now. It is much improved but the progress has come to a halt of late. Because it is still so “angry” (her word), she would like me to get a teeny weeny ultrasound to determine what’s going on under there, and to rule out an infection. In fact, she seemed somewhat alarmed by the inflammation. Depending on the results of the ultrasound, she may enlist a plastic surgeon to fix me up once and for all.
I am sharing this information with you because I’m imagining that this intervention may make it difficult for me to type my blog, unless I can recall the two-finger typing that got me through graduate school. Like any good therapist, I’m providing ample warning of my unavailability so you can find other vacuous ways to fill your time in my absence.
This little surgery, if needed, may not happen until August, however. One of the few downsides of public health care is that a doctor’s sense of urgency may not result in an immediate appointment for assessment. My attempt to book my “urgent” ultrasound resulted in an appointment three weeks hence. But I understand. I imagine there are many preemies in line for those teeny weenie ultrasound machinies. I will gladly wait.
Boy, J. is going to have no idea what’s going on in my life if she ditches my blog. You old faithfuls may have to fill her in.