Organ Recital Redux. A few years ago, I promised “never again” to give an Organ Recital. Well, in our family Covid-prompted Zoom meetings, daughter Shari asked about the current state of my health. I rudely passed the job to Parkview-trained, California-dwelling Laura Lee, since she monitors My Chart which reports all of my interactions with participating physicians. Unfortunately, she only has access to the results of various tests and visits. So reluctantly, (He said insincerely.) here’s my current concert.
Six months ago, when a more or less routine blood test revealed an apparently shockingly low platelet count, I was suddenly sent to a new doctor. Well, he wasn’t really new. I just hadn’t met him before. A no-nonsense sort of guy, he explained the potentially dire consequences of my having added CLL to my previously safely steady SLL. Then he quickly called in the “Travelling Team”, an imposing nurse with big book which detailed the plans for my trip to through the rapidly disappearing future. Also present was a pleasant woman to mention that she would be on hand if Mary and I needed ideas on how to pay for the medical antecedents to a questionable future. With a promise of palliative care and hospice if necessary, they wandered off, never to be seen again.
On the lighter side of the news, it soon apparently became apparent that doom was not quite as impending as briefly thought. Still, the palliative care doctor will Zoom into our home this morning bringing joy and probably promising for the fourth time to provide a guide providing questions about my life, so that those who care may know the answers. Fortunately, I’ve already typed over 20,000 words of deathless prose concerning my fascinating? experiences.
I must admit that the brief brush with the thought of a brief future prompted rapid flow of ideas for how to tie up the loose ends. Of course, it has occurred to me that at age 89 the world does not owe me a lot of time. An eminent IU Medical physician chided me a few years ago with the comment, “If you hadn’t lived so long, you wouldn’t have so many illnesses. Live longer and you’ll have more.” He was correct. By the way, he was the same doctor who chased me down the hall holding a large book with the intent of smashing the ganglion cyst on thumb. That was my last visit to him.
Now the twice a day $240 pills seem to conflict a bit with the meds for my foolish heart, causing my Pacemaker to work 98% of the time. (At least it’s earning its keep.) I’ve long since given up questioning the purpose of the score or so other pills to satisfy whatever other physical issues that concern various physicians. Once upon a time a long time ago, I used to challenge the doctor to convince me that I really needed the latest drug prescribed or just felt the need to (medical term) CYA.
So now I promise once again to “never again” (at least for another five years) give another Organ Recital.