Tuesday, January 12, 2010

So about that...

The Cardiologist.

My real beef with taking my father to the doctor anymore is that as the years have ticked on he truly has turned into his mother. And when I say that I mean he talks. And talks. And talks some more. And just when you think he can't possibly say another word...he does. The words detail oriented seem to only scratch the surface when it comes to him. Because the extent to which he can go on and on about his medical history simply astounds me sometimes. For example, yesterday the assistant asked how many prior surgeries he's had. I began the list: pump replaced 2 years ago, pump put in in 2001, 2 low back and 1 neck surgery between 1995 and 1999....

But that wasn't enough. Instead he began with the details. The date he got hurt on the job, the weeks after the injury that he kept working. What each doctor had ever said about anything. I could go on.

We all wanted him to visit his primary care physician to see about these problems. The details. The obsessive cleaning. The ocd stuff. But his family doctor got all freaked out over his heart instead and when my Dad pressed on these issues he told him they'd address all of that later.


So the cardiologist.

Overall it all seems like more of an exercise in omg you have to take these heart meds. He quit taking blood pressure meds, cholesterol meds, all of that good stuff years ago and started smoking again. To the chagrin of his family, might I add. So we all sat in the corner snickering while he struggled to explain why he did all of that.

The doctor doubled his bp pill dosage and wants to see him back in four weeks to check up on that and have an echocardiogram to see about heart damage (the CHF question, I'm assuming).

I was pleased.

Dad spent all night reading the side effects of his new medicine.


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