The nice people at the transplant center called my home yesterday afternoon (even though they have my work number and have been told multiple times they should call me there during the day). They explained that they didn't need to see me next Tuesday, and set up a new appointment for me to come in sometime in July.
Excuuuuse me? I'm not even a year post-transplant yet, and they don't want to see me for six months? For some reason this makes me uncomfortable. I feel really guilty for complaining about the people who saved my life, but what gives with this? I guess I should be grateful that I'm not losing any time at work, but I have to say, this is not what I was expecting for the first year post-transplant follow-up.
Since they have (yet again) failed to give me any guidance regarding when I need to get bloodwork done, I'll need to call them back. I'd intended to do it today, but I forgot to bring the name and number of the girl who called with the message, so it'll have to keep until tomorrow. Judging from their actions, there's no rush anyhow.
Other than a few items I need to attend to, today has once again fallen into the same-old/same-old routine. I do need to remember to stop at the Real Veterinarian's tonight on the way home to get a refill on Clueless' heart medication. I could only wish that my drugs were so cheap - and HE doesn't even have a prescription drug plan! I also discovered last night that we were nearly out of bleach, and probably ought to do something about rectifying that situation before the weekend. I'd also like to try to fit a visit to the gym in this evening some time. If I've reactivated the membership I ought to damn well use it, or I'm just wasting my money.
Skater Boy next door has once again taken to throwing his cigarette butts into my garden. I note that his mother, Blondie, hasn't done anything with their garden yet, and wonder why he can't just use his own garden area as his own personal ashtray. Nearly everyday when I get home I have to pick a butt (sometimes two) out of my garden, which I then toss into their garden. I'll be damned if I go to any more trouble to disposing of his butts than he goes to to dispose of his butts.
Further proof that kids his age shouldn't be smoking anyhow. They aren't responsible enough to even clean up after themselves.