People are doing dialysis anywhere from three to five days a week on average.
You do the math.
That’s a lot of people on dialysis.
A lot of days.
And a whole heck of a lot of money being spent.
“Yes, yes, you’re right.” She pats my hand but doesn’t meet my eyes, and I know she’s only placating me. She looks over my chart a moment longer and then stands. “I’ll go grab the doctor and let him know he can come see you.”
She slides out the door and it clicks into place behind her.
I sit on my hands, swinging my legs as I look around the room.
Taped to the door is the standard “Cover Your Cough” diagram, along with an information sheet on no-nos regarding the renal diet.
There’s a light knock on the door and Dr. Keegan pokes his head in.
“Willa!” He smiles, stepping into the room, nurse Nula coming in behind him.
Dr. Keegan is awesome and made me feel at ease from the start. In his forties, he has a daughter my age, and I think that always made him sympathize with my situation. He has dark hair, beginning to gray at the temple, and he almost always has a beard starting to grow like he frequently forgets to shave.
“Hey, Doc,” I chime, with a smile I can’t hide. He always makes me feel at ease, like I’m a person and not a part of a herd of cattle ready to be auctioned off.
He pushes his black-rimmed glasses up his nose and sits down, picking up my chart.
I keep quiet while he and Nula discuss my numbers and a bunch of other things.
Finally, he puts down the chart and listens to my heart and lungs.
After I sit back and he puts his stethoscope around his neck once more, he asks, “How have you been feeling? Everything good?”
“Just dandy—except for the part where, you know, I still don’t have a kidney.”
I’m joking. Mostly.
He frowns, and I instantly feel bad for what I said. I know it bothers Dr. Keegan that it’s been three years and I still don’t have a kidney, but it’s not like he can do anything to help. It’s a waiting game—one we all have to play.
“Well” —he twists his mouth— “it’s been three years, I’d say chances are you’ll be getting a call soon with that kidney. Have you spoken with your transplant hospital recently?”
I nod. “They call me every month. I’m due to go in person
next month for a checkup.”
“And you’re up to date on everything if they would call with a kidney?” He double checks.
“Yeah, they make sure everything stays up.”
He nods and glances back at my chart. “Everything looks great keep doing what you’re doing, and maybe by the time I need to see you again you’ll have that kidney.”
I burst out in laughter. “Yeah, right, but we can hope.”
“We definitely can. I’ll be thinking about you, kid.” He taps my knee with his finger and leaves the room.
“See you next time.” Nula smiles and follows him out the door.
I grab my bag and leave. Start to finish, I’d only been in there forty minutes, but it feels longer.