Appointment with the Hippopotamus

~names have been changed to protect the innocent.... me~

So I met the Hippopotamus this past Monday. It began snowing the night before my appointment so being able to walk out in the pretty environment was nice, but then my dear beloved CTA (Chicago Transit Authority... the bus&train folks for those of you not in Chicago) decided that a> they would help me prolong my agony by taking forever to make it to my stop and b> to prolong that agony by going slower than I could probably have walked to the doctor's office. Either way, I arrived 1o minutes before my appointment with time to fill out the paperwork and essentially tell my life story in the questionnaire.

Because Hepatitis C can be in your system long before you have symptoms, it may be hard to tell where it actually came from. This questionnaire, I assume, would help the doctor figure out risk behaviors or possible exposures that could have brought me into contact with this. I'd like to meet the person who checks all these things because THAT person has had an interesting life! All these situations I just never found myself in. It was like reviewing my life and finding out I had all these fun and racy options open to me, but never got to take them. Don't get me wrong, I think I've had a decently exciting life, but I don't think seeing Star Wars 23 times in the theater (the first time it was out), winning State champs in 3A band competition, or every roller coaster I've been on could have brought me hepatitis.

A brief disclaimer about my Hepatologist. I go back to the proper medical term for a moment and you'll understand why shortly. In the same way I used to worry that my mom, in 1992, who at that time was the only member in my family with a laptop much less a computer, would somehow stumble into AOL and see that I had ever been in "those rooms", I still figure that somehow, someway my doctor could possibly run across this blog. (Or, I could just tell him when and if he wonders how I'm coping with having HepC so he'd know I'm on laughter therapy) Only if my doctor was rail thin like my brother would I not worry about him wondering "Why's that guy calling me a Hippopotamus? Like he's so skinny..." My Hepatologist is by no means whatsoever a large man, but like me, his thinner days seem to be in the past (but not impossibly in the future :) ) Dr. G, if you're reading this... read the very first entry below. you were labeled the Hippopotamus before I ever met you. It's endearing, and you're about the most endearing member of your staff... we can discuss that later.

OR, we can discuss it now. Ever gone somewhere and felt like you're the new stack of boxes that was just delivered that no one really knows what to do with you, or at least knows the general area you're to be delivered to, but doesn't want to be the one to open and unpack the boxes? That was my experience in the doc's office. The nurse's aid, who is roughly the height of the munchkin girls in the Lollipop League. I was a little worried when I had to tell Lollipop how to work the blood pressure machine.... "Sara what's wrong with the bp machine?" ( it's on stand by ) "It's not working... *presses button* did you break it?" ( it's on standby... ma'am... it's on standby ) "I can't get this thing to work, let me change the cuff" ( ma'am... that's a thigh cuff, I'm not that big... the machine is on standby ) whereby I reach around and press the standby button myself and the machine starts right up trying to inflate a thigh cuff that's hanging off my arm.

After this little vital sign gathering process is over (and thank you very much, 97.6temp, and 122/78BP) I'm taken to the waiting room to finish my questionnaire. Lollipop comes back to take me to my exam room. We get back there and she opens the door for me to enter first. I thought this quite nice and chivalrous, until I turn to ask her a question and find that she's shut the door on me without so much a word or direction. No "get undressed and assume the position... what? no KY for you HepBoy" Oh well, I've gotten less attention on dates before so I troupe on. I had Harry Potter and his Half Blood Prince along for the ride and he could keep me company until Hippo came.

Now for the part those of you concerned for my health want to get to, what the Hippo said. Given that my test results thus far continually make use of the adjective "slightly" (enzymes are slightly elevated, liver is slightly enlarged, it's slightly possible you'd get laid in 2007) he wasn't as bleak as I was bracing myself for. I had some more blood tests done and I'll be scheduled for a liver biopsy. Now even though my medical past lets me realize that these days a liver biopsy is easier than ever... that word "biopsy" has that dread to it like.... "shot" or "needle" or "I love you and I want to keep you in my basement" But it will take all of an hour with a local anesthetic and I can bitch and moan about it for days! To who, I don't know, but if I can milk it somehow I will reserve the right to :)

Hippo tells me that given my risk factors (or sad boring life lack thereof) it's hard to guess where I may have gotten this. The biopsy will give an idea of how long I've had it and what strain it is, which will, in turn, tell us what kind of treatment I may need. (may being a hopeful, but important word to hear) It's a glimmer of hope and I'll take it as opposed to worrying myself over it. I may need the lighter treatment or I may need the longer treatment. We'll know after the biopsy. A nurse is called in to take me up and schedule my next appointment and get my lab work. Nurse Rachett says hello and instructs me to follow her. She stops at the receptionist window and I stop next to her. She asks the receptionist a question unrelated to my case, then turns her back on me and goes to the waiting room to get another patient. Again, didn't tell me to wait here, make an appointment, do my nails, juggle gerbils, anything. Had I not asked the receptionist what I needed to do, I could have just grabbed some cigars and done my best cigar store indian impression for an hour or two.

Oh well, while they may have been quite nice when they did communicate, it just seemed that at the time when further communication was important, the thought train sortof changed tracks and went back to munchkinland. If Rachett was on that train, perhaps she can stop by Lollipops room and help her with the BP cuff that I placed back on standby before I left.