Check up at the hospital yesterday. I said I’d put on a stone in weight since surgery. Good, she said, that’s what we like to hear. But.., I say. No, it’s good, she insists. It’s so weird not to be nagged for being overweight.
I’ve been joking about the need to know which department my paper file physically resides in. This time I got the honour of actually transporting it myself, with half an hour and a cup of coffee in between in which to read it (though you’re not meant to). Twice the correspondence says “this pleasant lady”, once it goes “this anxious lady”. I suspect these words mean different things to doctors, and “pleasant” is just code for “appears normal”. As for “anxious”, well if you knew you had a serious illness but hadn’t found out at that point which, wouldn’t you be anxious? Interestingly though, that was with the Gastroenterologist, the only doctor who I didn’t particularly like, because he didn’t appear to be listening. So “anxious” probably relates more to a real sense of communication difficulties.
I’d been told my file would pass back to him once Oncology had finished with it, but no, it’s now gone to Colo-rectal surgery sub-department of stoma care nurses (not that I have a stoma to care for, fortunately) instead, for the next five years, all being well. (I know, I took it there). Each department is tremendously efficient within itself, but there’s such a lack of interaction between them. Which is maybe inevitable in such a massive institution, but that’s why I need to keep my own eye on where my file currently resides.