“I told you so!” (Part 2):
Yes. My wife is angry, and she is smug, but she is more worried than either of the other two, and I am lucky for that. I was going to start this whole narrative, this piece about blood clots, with a reference to the song that includes “Ready for a thing called love”, that I know Dwight Yoakam does, but also know that it probably predates his birth. The reason, of course, being that I know it takes a whole lot of love (should I have used the Led Zeppelin song?) to drive all the way back from DC to make sure I went to the ER on Thursday night. I know that.
I understand her anger, and I understand her smugness, even if it is less apparent for the moment, but I am still not exactly up to date on the worry. A blood clot? So what?
Yes, the bit from the nurse about me walking, that kind of threw me, but just for a moment. Nice butt, nice walk. I was distracted.
And she laughed at my joke about how I am walking, even though it wasn’t a joke when I said it. I meant, if you haven’t figured it out, that it doesn’t really matter what I am supposed to be doing. I am walking. I have been walking, and I will continue walking. That is all I meant. And I was not trying to be funny. Of course, when she laughed, well, some of you know what happens to me when people laugh :).
I will skip most of the details of my second visit to the ER. What it boils down to is that they drew about five pints of blood (my wife says less than an ounce, but I count each of those little vials as a pint. I mean, it IS my blood, after all. And doesn’t an ounce of gold weigh more than an ounce of silver? That is a trick question.).
They did that and then they told me they had to wait for about two and a half hours to give me another dose of Lovenox (I know how to spell it now, oh yes, I do!), because the dose in the ER on the previous night happened at about 11:30PM (by MY calculation! Not theirs!!! But they assumed I was correct!!! Geez.)
My wife knew this would rankle me a bit, but also knew how to soothe the savage beast. Once again without trou, and back in a gurney-type bed, (me, I mean), she wrapped me up with sheet and started annoying me with Olympics trivia from a sports magazine I had already read pretty much cover to cover. Sure to put me to sleep or drive me stark raving mad into the streets of my town, half naked with blood clots and wanting to die and get it over with.
Okay, not that bad. But close.
The doc kept coming in for this or that, largely related to hooking up with OncoMan to give him the news about the Lovenox and the impending Coumadin, and telling me what the plan would be for the next three to six months, which sort of blew me away, as I considered this a minor sort of thing.
But, I am boring you. A nurse came in to give me the Lovenox shot, and I told her that the nurse the night before had done a great job, and that I had felt nothing, so she was under the gun. I would be comparing, I said. I thought that was funny, but she apparently did not, or did not know how to give a painless shot, because this one hurt like hell. Personally, I now advise not suggesting to a nurse giving you a needle of any kind that you are comparing her/him to anyone else. Take that for what you will. And do not ask me for sympathy if you ignore that advice and things take a turn for the worst.
I finally thought I was done. The Lovenox was in, I had my prescriptions, and in fact my wife had already gone to the joint’s pharmacy to submit them, and we were on our way.
Then ERDoc came back in, after I really, truly, thought I was done with him, and he grabbed a couple of blue latex gloves and put them on and snapped them, and said, jokingly, always be afraid when the doctor comes in wearing gloves.
And I laughed and agreed. And then I saw his face, saw his eyes, and said, and I remember this discinctly: “Oh, no, you have got to be joking! Not going to happen!”
And he said, we have to make sure that you do not have a GI bleed. Your counts are low, he said. And I responded, once, twice, three times at least, “I just had an endoscopy, seriously, within the last couple of months. I am serious!”
To which he replied, “I’m sorry, but we have to do this.”
My wife, traitor that she is, said “I’ll be leaving now.” And was gone.
I will remember that :).
He was, regrettably, serious. I had visions of Deliverance dancing through my head. This, I thought, cannot be happening. I have avoided prostate exams forever to avoid this very thing!
But, he meant it.
I pulled down my trou, reluctantly, you can be assured, along with the Little Devils, or whatever, and he said, “You have to bend over.”
Too much information, I know. But I bent over and it hurt a lot more than I thought it would, I don’t care what anyone tells you. Okay, not as bad as some things, but more than I expected, and I yelped (I did not squeal like a pig) and I yelped again, and when he was done, I said, “I would make a poor homosexual.” No slight to homosexuals. But I gag and I don’t take well to foreign objects headed up the pass. I’m just saying.
He is a doctor, and he laughed.
I have a feeling that some people will complain about this, but I am pretty sure that none of them will be homosexual. I know homosexual folks and they have a finer sense of humor, the ones I know, than most other people I know. I will leave that where it is. This is not about that.
I will say that the last time that happened to me, as far as I can remember, I was entering the United States Air Force almost 30 years ago. I was not prepared for it. I doubt that I will ever be. Be that as it may, when my wife came back in, me fully dressed and completely violated (:)), I mentioned the travesty to her and she exclaimed that she had no sympathy as it happened to her annually with her PAP smear exam. I needed to know no more about the particulars of that exam. So I shut my mouth, squeezed my cheeks, and moved on.
I had no GI bleed, which, after the fact, is like when the surgeon took out a ‘suspicious mole” that turned out to be benign: you hate him for doing it at the same time you are comforted by the knowledge. I had no GI bleed. The twerp.
Still, he was cute :).