my poor doctor

He really didn't know what he was getting into when I became his patient. I have called his office three times related to one or the other surgery. Every time, it's been something so obvious. The first time I called because my arm was throbbing. The PA told me to keep it elevated. The second time, I called because my wrist had a bump on it. The PA told me to wait until my next appointment, at which it turned out to be scar tissue. The third time, I called because I had a fever. After hours. So they had to page the doctor. He told me to move around a bit and wait until tomorrow, at which point to go to the hospital if I still had a fever. But today is tomorrow, and the fever is gone. Although I'm still tempted to go back to outpatient surgery to have my bandage redone. Because itchy, itchy, itchy.

I feel like the neediest patient ever. All those years of my mom being calm about things and waiting until the next day have clearly not sunk in. For surgery at least. Usually I am calm, I think, but I've never had surgery before and I don't feel all that well prepared. I mean, who knew about this scar tissue thing?

Fortunately I said no when the girl next to me at the cafe during the arm-throbbing incident turned out to be a medical student who had the doctor's personal cell phone number. That was noble of me (patting myself on the back). At least now I'm not calling him directly.