End of an era

52 weeks; 52 health care claims. That's nice and symmetrical. I think I'll call it a year. Of course, my nonsense didn't start until nearly March, and we've more than a month to go, but I've no intention of writing another co-pay check or donning another paper dress in 2007--and just for the record, universe, that is not a dare.

My brainwaves seem to be more or less regulated, my rogue ovary was just this week found to be clear if inexplicably achey. For months, you may recall, I've been insisting that I'm fine; now, finally, credibility. And perhaps, could it be, closure? This afternoon my cell rang while I was at my homebound student's home. I couldn't place the number, but I knew it was familiar, so I apologized, broke all my rules, and took the call. Turned out it was my least favorite doctor's file clerk, wondering about the records request they'd received. Oh, so THAT's the call they return on a Friday afternoon. I'd always wondered what it took.

Since I was in a bedroom that did not belong to me, I answered her query, her, "did we do something wrong?" with, "I'm more comfortable with my new doctor's advice. Goodbye!" and not, "Where do I begin?!"

When I had my student observer this week, my students all thought she was a sub and reacted accordingly. "Are you gone a lot?" she asked. "Oh, no. Not anymore. But for a while there, it was crazy." And if I hadn't called my primary care guy and gotten a second opinion, I may have been on the verge of giving up body parts to some overaggressive gynecological surgeon instead of closing out this chapter. Talk about nuts. At least I was smart enough to avoid that. Because doctors, all they are is educated, and if I know anything, its the flaws in that endeavor.