So, once again my blood is trying to kill me.
Actually, we caught it in the plotting stage this time. No need for an actual embolism. It was clotting up something fierce in my leg, as discovered when I headed to the doctor’s. They sent me over to the hospital that same day, and kept me there under observation for a couple of days. I was released, again with the Lovenox and again with the Coumadin, to another dreary period of not so much alcohol and having to carefully monitor how much vitamin K I get (which, of course, is problematic if you like to eat nutritious vegetables like spinach and broccoli).
It feels something like a non-event to me. I mean, it’s an event all right — I’ve missed a week plus of work thanks to doctor appointments and not yet being cleared to return. Once you’re the sole salaried employee in the house you get really nervous about not working, though I must say everyone at the office has been super-supportive. I work at a nice place. (Naturally, that makes me all the more nervous about wanting to keep doing so…)
And of course it’s an event where Aileen’s concerned. And most everyone else who’s more worried about these blood clots busting loose than I am. Why am I not worried? I don’t know. I think because I’m too busy being nervous about work and irritated about this stupid medicated diet. It doesn’t help that this time the hospital showed me a video that was kind of… condescending and fearmongery, full of seniors talking about how being on coumadin doesn’t prevent you from enjoying sports like bridge and table tennis. I’m more irritated at being sentenced to a life that’s a little more bland than worried about the possibility of losing said life: but of course, if I let myself worry about all the bad things that could happen, then I don’t sleep at night. This’ll happen if you read some of your dad’s books on survival techniques and oncoming possible global calamities and collapse of unsustainable resources and all that.
But it helps to make posts like these because otherwise I’m bad with names. Livejournal helped me track down the last time this happened; so this time I’m able to put names like Gwinnett Medical Center and Gwinnett Surgical Associates and Dr. Anegundi on the web just in case I can’t find the appropriate papers later on. (It happened last time; sure enough, I can’t recall the name of the blood specialist who tracked down the specific genetic clotting factor in my blood.) This post is blatantly self-serving in that respect.
It’s also… not terribly interesting, I’m afraid. That’s good, in a way. It makes me more dedicated to making the next post genuinely interesting, to writing about something that’s relevant and maybe witty and thought-provoking. Next time I have something to say, I can fire up this site, look at this post and say “I can do better than that.”