PET Scan (non)Update

Okay, here’s the deal. I had my PET scan on Monday. I talkked to my transplant coordinator, who told me she would be off this week. I could call A, who’s covering for her, on Tuesday afternoon to find out the results of the PET scan and find out what my upcoming schedule would be.

Yesterday I called A and she was having computer issues and said she’d call me back as soon as she could access her files again. No return call at work, no return call at home. I get in to work this morning and give her a call.

She is out of the office on Wednesdays.

Would you not assume that exam results are important to a cancer patient and everyone in the immediate vicinity of the cancer patient? Would you not leave a big note somewhere saying “For the love of GOD call this patient ’cause he’s probably going crazy right now!”

So I call the emergency contact person, S, that A leaves on her voicemail. I try to explain to her how this is actually a sort of emergency, since I’m going to be out of work the next two days with the wisdom tooth thing and my boss needs to know if I’ll be in next week since I have projects that have to be handed to someone else if I’m not. Not an “I’m dying” emergency, but an emergency nonetheless since I WAS NEVER CALLED BACK YESTERDAY.

So S checks around and calls me back in a few minutes (learn a lesson, A). She starts out the call with “I’ve found out what’s going on, but you’re probably not going to like to hear this.”

A nurse practitioner is going to be looking at my scan and discussing the results with Dr. C. Why is an NP looking at them and not the doc? Go on, guess.

The doctor is on vacation this week.

Yes, even doctors need vacations, but couldn’t this have been mentioned last week? “By the way, your doctor’s going to be out of the office, so you might have to jump through a bunch of hoops to find out anything.” That’s all I ask is to be informed.

In other news, the bloodwork came back good, so tomorrow the wisdom tooth extraction will proceed. Every time I use the word “extraction,” I picture my wisdom tooth as a sandinista rebel ensconced in a guatemalan gulag. Too ’80s?