Praise God; the on-call week is over. 7 days (this always impresses my Dad but no one else, particularly) carrying the pager continuously and rounding on the hospital service is rather like banging your head against the wall. It feels so good when you stop. Ahhh.
This week wasn't too rugged; every on-call week spins a different feel. One new kidney transplant, a number of people in house with transplants from past days, and the usual collection of dialysis patients as well as those whose kidney function had been good but then turned south. All in a week's work.
I felt good about hitting a controversial diagnosis "on the head", spot-on, and recommending a treatment that actually worked and worked fast. Those wins are terrific when there is so much we nephrologists do that feels like applying pressure to an open, gushing wound.
And so, on this Monday, my weekend begins. The sun is shining in Seattle. The trash, recycling, and yard waste pickups (another of my favorites: the triple header) passed by our house this morning. All is well.
Only wish I wasn't dreaming about a tall stack of blueberry pancakes, dripping with melted butter and real maple syrup with a side of crispy bacon.
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