There are days when everything just seems to go right. Yesterday was one of them.

So yesterday I had an appointment with the registrar of the Infectious Disease department to review my latest CT scan and chest X-ray, and discuss the plan of action moving forward.

So I drive to the hospital and after going around the block a couple times I got a pretty good free parking spot. It wasn’t exactly what I had visualised but I’m not complaining. I park the car, pick up my bag and scans and head into the hospital.

By the time on my mobile phone I was running ten minutes late for the appointment. No biggie. I then realise, after fumbling around the pockets of my three-quarter pants, that I didn’t have my wallet on me. That meant that I also didn’t have my medicare card to hand over at the reception. I then recall that I had written my medicare number down on a blood test form that was still in my bag!

As it turns out the lady at reception knew me from my previous visit anyway and told me to sit down. She didn’t need the card or number after all.

I sit patiently for the next forty or so minutes, occasionally glancing at the television with Dr Phil on it a couple of times (it was a bit too far for me to see or hear what was going on in the show), and observing the on goings in the hospital. Doctors, patients, and med students all went about doing their business.

Mentally I was reminding myself that I was healthy and the PICC line would be coming off.

Soon the doctor himself comes out and calls my name. I was in a somewhat meditative state with my eyes closed at that point and I think I  missed him calling my name the first time. Anyways I quickly snap out of it and follow him into the clinic room.

The doctor mentioned that he was actually planning on calling me tomorrow but I knew that it was important that I schedule this appointment so I’m glad I did. The doctor tells me that based on the latest blood tests and scans (he didn’t even need to look at the physical scans I had with me, he’d already seen the electronic version) all signs indicate that the cryptococcus was out of my system ie. I was healed! We’d continue with the oral medication just to be absolutely sure that there were no further complications, and the PICC line could come off! I was delighted!

The doctor did advise that based on my chest x-ray there was some scarring identified on the apex of my right lung. It was a sign of previous Tuberculosis (TB) in the system, particularly common amongst migrants from South East Asia. As a precaution he recommended a Mantoux test be done at the chest clinic. I was (and still am) confident that I am healthy so I had no problems with getting the test done. He scheduled a follow up in two weeks time.

I thanked him for the awesome news and headed to Ambulatory Care for the first order of business - to book in a time to remove the PICC line. On my way there I ran into one of my cousins that I haven’t seen in a very long time. In fact I had been asking my mum about him only days before… how coincidental! (LOA!) He was in the hospital with a female friend and her baby. At least I think it was her baby (he said it wasn’t his). It was a quick catch up as we were headed in the same direction. I bid them farewell once we hit the Ambulatory Care unit.

As usual the nurses were flat out but it was good seeing them again. They all recognised me and asked if I had returned for treatment. I smiled and replied (pointing to my right arm) "No, it’s time to get this thing off". After some initial concern that I didn’t have the necessary written order from the doctor to proceed with the removal it turned out all was good and the letter that I was given by the doctor was exactly what they needed. I was told to return in twenty minutes, which was fine with me because I still needed to head to the chest clinic to do the Mantoux test.

I wondered if I needed my medicare card for the Mantoux test and even considered postponing the visit. However as I had time to kill I decided to go in and give it a shot. At the chest clinic, which was opposite the hospital, I was told that Mantoux tests weren’t being done on Thursdays however to save me from any further inconvenience the kind ladies proceeded to check if I had done a similar test before when I came to Australia.

For this they required the month and year that I arrived in Australia. I could only guess so I called my dad who confirmed that it was December of 1980. Moments later a nurse came into the room carrying some folders (ah, the pre-digital filing system) and inside the 1980 folder they located me. I was impressed. The lady commented that I must have been born at a refugee camp but to my knowledge I was born in the Laotian capital Vientiane so I’ll have to check that story with my dad sometime. As for the medicare card, the lady did ask for it but she was happy enough to take down the number that I had. Yay!

Anyways, I booked in to get the test done the next day (today) and returned to the car. I was keeping a close eye on the time because I thought that I had parked in a two hour zone, but as it turned out I was still OK for another hour!

I returned to Ambulatory Care and was asked to wait until a chair was free. I took the opportunity to text my manager at work and tell him that, as planned in an email I sent to him two weeks ago, I’d be back in action next week. Within fifteen minutes Carol, one of the nurses, was removing the PICC line from my arm. It literally took 30 seconds for her to pull it out. Amazing! She wished me all the best and I thanked her and the other nurses for all their good work as I headed out of AC, perhaps one of the last times that I will take that walk.

So yesterday was a great day. I’m off to get that Mantoux test done now.