Yesterday morning was a little rough.
I never answer my phone when I see a number I don’t recognize. So, it was not out of the ordinary when I ignored my phone after seeing “Restricted” pop up on my caller id. I muted the call and went back to sipping my coffee and singing to Baby Grouch in my horrendously off key tones. Maternity leave is so grand!
I noticed the voice mail icon pop up, so I called to see who had hidden their number from me. It was the doctor’s office calling and telling me that my doctor had a message for me and that I should call back. That was a half-truth. It was the nurse practitioner who had a message for me.
(Background: I had a doctor who was AH-MAZ-ING. He moved and I got transferred to a new doctor in the same building. My new doctor appears to be a twit, since she doesn’t remember much about me from one visit to the next, and who gives me advice and dismisses issues related to my health without looking at my chart or asking me any questions. Needless to say, I don’t value her opinion and am looking for a new doctor. In the meantime, I started seeing a nurse practitioner, Kara, at the same office, since I really like the office and need to keep up with my preventative health care. Kara really impressed me at the last visit, which is not the easiest thing to do. She was thorough, she asked a lot of questions, and she read through all of my information on the computer. I liked her right away. I may continue to see her – as clearly there isn’t a correlation between having a doctoral degree and being able to provide exceptional family practice care).
SIDEBAR: When women tell stories, we start the story, and are, at some point, reminded of something else, so, we tell a little mini story and then sometimes another little mini story that is an off-shoot of the first mini story. Eventually, we go back to telling the original story – at times needing a teensy reminder of what we were originally talking about. This doesn’t mean we aren’t paying attention or we don’t eventually get to the point. Someone tell my husband this is just how women’s brains work, okay? Back to original story:
I had gone the day before to get some routine lab work done to keep an eye on things considering my chronic high blood pressure. I wondered if the call was related to the blood work. It seemed pretty early for them to even have the results back. But, if they WERE back, it probably wasn’t a good thing if they were calling, right? They don’t usually call for good news. Hmmm…. I avoided returning the call for about 15 minutes until I worked up a little courage and then dialed the office number.
After being connected to the nurse, she told me that my microalbumin numbers seem exceptionally elevated and Kara had put my lab results on her desk, with a red flag and a note to call me immediately to have me re-do the test to see if it could possibly be accurate.
Well, shit, that doesn’t sound good.
“What were my numbers”, I asked? “530”. Okay, that means nothing without context. I asked a follow-up question, “What are the numbers supposed to be?” The nurse hesitated a bit and then said, “Between 0 and 19”.
Well, shit, that doesn’t sound good.
Let’s hope that the blood work re-do numbers look a little better.
So, in every profession, there are people who make mistakes. It’s a part of being human, I suppose, and we all understand that no one is perfect, and that it is ridiculous to expect perfection.
Unless you’re a teacher.
Then, you’re supposed to get 100% of students to meet 100% of standards, and if you don’t, you’re clearly the Anti-Christ and the very idea that you should be able to collectively bargain for things such as class size and a planning period are preposterous.
I went back for lab results, slightly concerned that I would have to ask my sister for a kidney, and that I wouldn’t be able to drink wine anymore, but HAVE NO FEAR – I can guzzle away and save my favor-asking for later. My updated microalbumin level is 5. FIVE. Not FIVE HUNDRED THIRTY. Slightly off there the first time.
Whew. (And, cheers!)