I thought it was very convenient that the neurologist I was to see had and office downtown and in the west end. I asked they make the appointment in the west end, where I lived. I hated driving downtown even then and would have to take the subway for part of the route.
So, I presented myself at the west end clinic, anxious to see what was what, only to be told the appointment was downtown. No, I told the receptionist, it was not. I figure you can guess who won that argument. The receptionist called the doctor at the other office and explained the mix-up. When she turned to me and asked how long it would take me to get downtown, I knew I was in trouble. This busy doctor, not just any doctor, but a specialist, was going to wait for me to get there.
I drove to Bloor West Village and parked, got a Bloor Street, east bound subway to Yonge, transferred to the north bound train and lastly, walked a couple of blocks to the office. That’s a lot of thinking time.
I liked this doctor immediately, and who wouldn’t, he was willing to wait for me rather than reschedule the appointment. He had an understanding of what I had been going through that week.
First test was a CAT scan, which immediately ruled out the brain tumour. It didn’t answer the question of what was causing my symptoms, but it took the Big C out of the equation, always a good thing. Other tests were ordered.
My doctor was careful in what he said, and remained noncommittal. Tests came back negative, which was a relief, but I still had no answer. My condition didn’t change and so my appointments became less frequent until I saw him only once a year.
I suppose that was okay for awhile…but it came to a point I needed more.