Yesterday, we headed out to Jefferson City. It’s always a big trip, even if it isn’t. Jefferson City is about an hour and a half away, which means we have to leave two hours before the appointment. There may be traffic. There may be construction. There is always McDonald’s. McDonald’s is right next to the hospital that holds our regular appointment, and if it isn’t visited beforehand, then the visit is a constant explanation that we will visit McDonalds after our appointment, which makes for a very long hour. The appointment isn’t an hour. The appointment is fifteen minutes, but let’s be honest, we are the patients that always go over. Then of course there is the wait. We aren’t the only patients that go over.
Dr. H is our pediatric psychiatrist in Jefferson City. We went through two psychiatrists before settling on Dr. H and weighing the travel as worth while.
Yesterday was our usual med-review visit, but it was also our post-Mayo update visit. I brought copies of all our Mayo labs and Dr. R’s notes. I explained the degenerative outlook and the disappointing neurological autoimmune results. I explained how the NPC results were still not in, and how at this point, everything waits on that. I relayed Dr. O’s warning on changing medications before having the NPC results and his honesty that medication won’t make much difference if the test is positive.
Dr. H took it all in. We talked about our Mayo visit. We talked about Savannah’s progress since our last Jefferson City visit. We talked about our next visit. As we left, with promises to notify the office as soon as the NPC results come in, Dr. H’s demeanor changed. Dr. H is always the same, always reserved, always professional. Yesterday, Dr. H’s demeanor broke. Behind it was the apologetic expression that we frequently saw at the Mayo Clinic. The pity. The sorrow. The realization. It had followed us back to Tennessee.