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(John Mellencamp reference)

I am officially bleeding like a stuck pig again. Had a couple of tiny scabs on my hand, don’t know how they got there, and, being a man, I picked them. Being a man, I missed my checkup, the weekly one, with my doc, to check my blood, my Coumadin, all of that. Being a man, I have ignored my wife and her plaints that I get in to see him (not my wife, who is not a him, but my doc, who is a him).

Now, I have picked a couple of incidental scabs, very minor scabs, I mean, I mean, so small that I really thought they were not scabs at all, but merely simple little red spots on my hand, and they have become one, and they are bleeding through Band Aids.

At some point, I may have to wake my wife, which will not be much fun for me :).

It is not a major emergency. I would not want to even imply that. I know that a few of my friends have bigger worries right now, especially this coming sunrise. My thoughts are with them.

But I am bleeding again, and that sort of disappoints me. I thought we were getting a handle on this thing. I have been dropping the Coumadin more or less religiously, and felt like, with my legs not hurting and the last checkup going so well, we were on our way.

I should probably attend my checkups more religiously :).

I should also quit picking at anything looking like a scab on my personal body, regardless of the situation. (Not that my wife has anything remotely looking like a scab on her personal body! That was not the intent of that sentence, trust me!).

To be honest, I cannot help that (picking scabs, in case you lost the thread, as I did :)). I have been doing it since I was old enough to recognize a scab and wonder what was underneath it. That is what the males of this species do!

We exult in them! We show them off if they are large enough and particularly green enough. I remember – not how I got it – but a tremendous scab on my elbow once, as a teen, that became rather green and, well, gooey. And I picked at it (of course) and it got worse before it got better, but none of the guys were averse to taking a gander at it, to marvel at it, and to tell stories of their own particular injuries and bodily defacements.

We were young then. We thought that would be the worst of it, as you might surmise. Or the best of it, depending upon your point of view.

Once, while playing sandlot football (actually, we were not complete idiots: we played in a grassy field), I stepped on the broken bottom of a Pepsi bottle. The bottom! That baby was thick and sharp. It went through my cheap sneaker and into my heal. The scar remains. I continued to play, of course, not knowing until I got home that the blood was running up the entire length of my sock. My mom nearly had a heart attack, I think, when I took the shoe off and poured blood out of it.

That thing never did hurt. Not me, anyway :).

Not bragging. Just trying to explain the typical male mentality to what is probably a largely feminine audience.

And so, I picked at these things, and don’t even know how I got them, a couple of little spots on my hand, and suddenly if I were JR Ewing, and if it were black, I would be screaming “GUSHER!”. Well, okay, I’m exaggerating. I would be saying to myself, more accurately, wow, look at the blood!

As usual, my wife was right. (Does anyone else spite their noses to cut off their faces, or however the saying goes?). And my doc was right. And his nurse was right. And I was, again, remiss in taking care of business. It is no longer a story, but I do wonder if anyone else simply gets tired of all of the trips and the pricks (okay, in my case, it is really only the trips at this point … and a minor prick … all else is relatively a matter only of time, something I happen to cherish, by the way, but we can go into that at another time, since I do not have time for it right now :))?

There was a question in there, wasn’t there?

Doc is off on Wednesdays for some reason. Maybe he is at the hospital on those days. I do not know. He may use that day to go fishing. I do not think he plays golf or we probably would have played by now. But he is off on Wednesdays, which I knew when I avoided the trip both yesterday and today.

So here I sit, typing and watching the bleeding through the Band Aid and wondering when it is going to stop.

If the duct tape doesn’t work, I will wake the wife. 🙂