Thank you, Minor & James Medical

I fired my UW doc a few months ago over a simple blood draw.  I guess it's more fair to say that I fired the  institution of the UW, which is sad because I worked for the UW for many, many years.  I kind of liked my doctor, too.  What pushed me over the edge was the clusterf*** I experienced just trying to get a BLOOD DRAW.  A blood draw!  It took me almost two weeks and 7 different phone calls just to walk into the UW Lab, and when I did, they were giant jerks.  I realized that if I had that much trouble with a blood draw, imagine what might happen if I needed something more serious.  I also felt that there was no excuse that the UW Lab, ironically located right next to the UW Transplant Clinic, had no clue how the donor process worked.

So, I now have a doc at Minor & James Medical.  Much smaller facility, and more contained.  I had to get yet another blood draw there yesterday--more donor process stuff.  It still confused the M&J Lab a little, but it was only 10 minutes of confusion as opposed to 10 days.  And they were nice to me, asked me questions about the transplant, and wished me luck.  I am now a loyal patient of Minor & James.  Need a new doctor?

Wow, this blog is good therapy.

Fly away, little kidney, flyflyfly...

Welcome to my blog. As someone who hates talking about herself, this should be an interesting experiment. 

I'm chronicling my experience as an organ donor.  To specify, I'm donating a kidney to my nephew, who we all knew from the moment he was born would eventually need one from someone else.  I got tested, thinking what the hell, what are the real chances that I'll be a match?  Well, surprise.  Apparently I was the top candidate.  My first reaction was, admittedly: "Oh, shit!"

I've never been really sick, never been hospitalized, never had surgery.  I've worked in healthcare IT for the past 12 years, so I know my way around a hospital and clinic from a different perspective.  I don't think I'm prepared to be a patient, though.

That came to a head this past week.  I had a bit of a nervous breakdown, hissy fit, conniption, tantrum.  Full-on.  I mean screaming "FUCK YOU!", giving a piece of mail the middle finger, kicking the wall, punching the door frame.  I haven't been that angry since high school accounting, when I couldn't balance those goddamn debits and credits for my imaginary business balance sheet.  I feel really silly about it, but I obviously needed it, and at least my husband and dog were not there to witness it.  Not that they didn't get an earful, because even later that evening as I was describing my little episode to my friends, I was so very angry.  I had managed to grab out of the drying rack a beautiful little pottery coffee cup that my friends had purchased in Hawi on the Big Island, and turned that little cup over and over in my hands while I spewed.  My friend Marty had to literally look away because he was certain that I'd throw it against the wall.  Precious coffee cup!  You are safe.  And I feel better.