tinkll1 (tinkll1) wrote,
tinkll1
tinkll1

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Allison Moorer, Shelby Lynne.... and a Kidney Transplant

It started with watering my sunflower seedlings, preparing a page for Myles and Grampa's Picture Book on the Lotus Exige with pictures, a call from the St. Joseph ER on a patient with a creatinine of 4 and left flank pain, nausea and vomiting, a run to LA Computer to reclaim my iBook with additional memory, a call from the transplant coordinator at Western Med Santa Ana to alert me that a patient may be in line for a transplant..... "How's he doing?.... He said he's lost 11 kilos.... He says he's feeling depressed...." I reassured her that I thought he was doing quite well, and that we should proceed with the transplant. She said she'd call me back when and if the kidney was available. Myles' birthday party was scheduled for 4 P.M. in Lake Forest, so, on the way to St. Joes, I hit 3 dialysis clinics, worked up the lady with the mysterious right flank pain, who had pyuria, but after a shot of morphine, little else, and finished up at 5:30 P.M., after a visit to a 4th dialysis clinic. One patient or two at most on each shift in a different place. I'm grateful for my Porsche and NPR, listening to Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion while proving that my dependence on the Middle East and Chevron isn't about to end. Unfortunately, I weighed myself in the dialysis clinic and got objective evidence as to why my choice of trousers is becoming extremely limited. Amazing what one manufacturer calls 36 and another calls 36. It's time for a change when one develops favorite 36's! (They're 38, for damned sure, and tight at that.)

Myles and Danielle are adorable! Myles has more cars than Cal Worthington! I resolve to give him one Matchbox at a time, and slip the four new pages into his notebook. I don't eat the birthday cake. I'm tired, so I leave, get home, munch on a small number of grapes and fall into bed to watch hour 18 or so, of Le Mans' 24. It's hard to get the flow of the contests in all four categories. Lin gets home. It's 9 o'clock. I fall asleep. No word about the transplant.

Until 12:15. The coordinator calls and says, it looks like he's going to get it. "We're bringing him in. The surgeon will do the transplant first thing in the morning. He took his Coumadin, though."
This play by play woke me out of a lovely sleep, and now I'm thinking that he's going to need some fresh frozen plasma to reverse the anticoagulation so he doesn't bleed excessively during the transplantation. What else does he need? Well, he needs an H&P so the surgeon can cut, and I get to be a 71 year old intern to put it all together for the surgery, before the sun rises.... on Father's Day! If he gets the plasma, he's going to be volume expanded, so he needs to be dialysed before his surgery. I get to orchestrate this and wake up a bunch of people. Not that the acute dialysis crew from a care less corporation could be mobilized, but it will be fun to come at them with righteous indignation. Whoa, stay constructive, a little voice says. Remember the mission! I can't help thinking of my daughter's admonition, jokingly, from the past.... "Saving lives... it's highly overrated!" She was kidding, ironically of course, as it's generally no fun to be the child, wife, etc., of a physician.

I'm feeling sorry for myself, so I pick up the New Yorker, and there's an article on Steve Earle. I know the name. Heck, I met him on the Nation Cruise in December. Remarkable story. His wife, Allison is a looker and a fine singer. So, to be sure I have this right, and because I can't fall asleep, and it's a good thing I didn't try, because the 6th floor calls to announce that the transplant recipient has arrived, and the coordinator wanted me called. No labs, and no action, and now its
2:30 A.M. and there is no way that I can fall asleep. To give him the fresh frozen plasma, I'm going to have to dialyze him, at what, 4:00 A.M. So now the schedule is playing out.

I google Steve and Allison and sister, Shelby, and I'm listening to Steve on KCRW's internet archive. I respect the guy, but I lean to Tom Paxton and Phil Ochs, but I like what he has to say between songs.... He quotes somebody who was asked if he believed in God. "I do, but I don't like him." So, I have to like Steve. I learn from Wiki that Allison and Shelby's father murdered her mother in a drunken fit leaving the girls orphans.

Sunflowers, country singers, grandchildren, transplants, Father's Day, Le Mans.... I can't even worry about Hamas and Fatah, Israel, Iran, more Americans dying in Iraq to keep the gas coming to my Porsche so we can keep doing transplants and wait for the sunflowers to bloom. This is what happens when I can't sleep.
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