Another birthday has come and gone, which means another reminder to find out how my right kidney is faring since I gave away her mate 11 years ago.
Another day. Another nonagenarian. Ninety-year-old Mr. V sat in his wheelchair, his son seated in the burgundy office chair beside him when I walked in the room.
Two months after meeting Mother and Daughter, I was again in the clinic when they returned. This time I acted as supervisor to the fellow, the nephrologist in training. Fellow came from the exam room to tell me about how Mother had been doing since being seen by my colleague and a different fellow at her last appointment a month prior.
Twenty-six million adults in this country have chronic kidney disease and over half a million have end-stage kidney disease, yet most Americans don’t know what dialysis is. And what the hell is a nephrologist? Until I went to medical school, I was no different.