Cliff is supposed to see our family doctor regularly. Some of the heart and blood pressure meds he takes could be damaging to his liver; so every three or four months, he gets a blood test and is checked over by Dr. D.
Once a year, Cliff visits his cardiologist, although neither of us could really see the necessity of this: Dr. D keeps a close eye on Cliff, and if anything went wrong, he'd send him straight to the cardiologist.
Today we asked Dr. D if that specialist was necessary. He smiled and said no. Good!
I always go into the exam room with Cliff; I started doing this because he can't hear well, but I've since found that I can ask questions Cliff never thinks of.
I'm sure all my readers have been through this ordeal when visiting their doctors: You sign in and have a seat in the waiting room. Five to ten minutes later, a nurse summons you, and you get yourself weighed and blood-pressure-checked. Then you're escorted to an examination room; if you haven't been through this as often as Cliff and I have, you might have high hopes that the doctor will be there shortly.
No way. The nurse makes a timely visit. She asks questions, makes notes, and takes blood. But it might be forty-five minutes before the good doctor appears. At least Cliff and I can converse while we're waiting. But we always wonder how Doctor D. can be so far behind, so early in the morning.
Finally our short, Italian doctor (our son knew Dr. D's son in school, when we lived in that district) shows up, and we put away our Readers' Digests. He asks all the right questions: "Do you have plenty of energy?" "Any chest pain?" "Do you sleep well?"
Today when he asked about energy, I said, "He must feel OK; every time the weather gets above 45°, he hops on the motorcycle."
Oh my goodness. A conversation was launched that lasted at least a half-hour. Dr. D has a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, and he had to tell us about the times he's been to Sturgis, and Wyoming, and California.
"Do you enjoy riding with him?" he asked me.
When I enthusiastically said yes, he said, "Mary (his wife) doesn't really care for it."
Doc often has his bike shipped to his destination; then he flies out and claims his Harley.
All the time this conversation was going on, I was thinking, "There are a half-dozen patients in other rooms wondering why this doctor is so far behind!"
Cliff and I have had a good laugh about this.
Our biker doctor.
Oh by the way, he's about the same age as we are.