A Carnivore's Guide To Cardiology- Big Five Oh Round Up Part 2

Literally Thin Blood and Figuratively Thick Skin

With two stents in me, I'm stuck on Plavix and baby asprin.

It could be worse.

I could be on coumadin which requires constant regulation akin to the Overlook Hotel boiler.  There are also similar consequences of failing to monitor the levels.

Plavix normally has minimal if random effects:

I can, and often have, walked into a cubicle wall hard enough to separate it from the desk its connected to with no ill effects.

However, I also occasionally get huge purple and green "phantom bruises" based on no known impacts.

Cuts are the same. Most times, they heal normally.

Other times...

Well, let me lead with the never confidence infusing: I'm fine now.

Frustratingly, I was using the extra time home in lockdown to reclaim some juggling skills.  The last time I was trying to reclaim them, it was cut short by a snow blowing mishap.

No not a disastrous one, a stupid one, it's me.

I felt myself falling backwards after I turned the beast and instead of trusting the snow, and my padded posterior, to protect me, I fought the loss of balance.  By flailing my arms, the side of my right hand slammed onto the steel of the blower, breaking the bone.  I didn't think it was broken at first and neither did any medically trained folks at work.  

In fact, neither did the doctor when my wife got tired of my thick-headedness and called the office herself to make my appointment.  The doctor returned with an x-ray saying, "Sorry, you'll have to tell your wife she was right."

"Don't worry," I smartly replied, "I'm used to it."

Once I recovered from that, with a slight bend in that section of my hand, I had started practicing again and ramped it up during lock-down.  That ended on a Saturday night this past fall, I learned I can still juggle well, but I can't cut bread  

I gashed my left index finger with the mondo serrated bread knife because the bastone was much more stale than I thought.  Usually I can get cuts in my flesh down to an ooze with pressure and put a tight band aid on them to completely stop bleeding, even with the pills I am on.  

For this one, the bleeding didn't slow down after twenty and then over forty minutes of pressure so Rosa (who was right yet again) drove me to the ER.  There were a couple folks signing in ahead of me but it was empty inside, which brought some comfort in these plague ridden times.  

I foolishly thought nearly severing a digit with a serrated blade hurt...

Until the cleaner guy, who introduced himself with- "I'm  not here to hurt you, but this is going to hurt" , poured iodine into it.  

That did slow the bleeding to an ooze and set off a dazzling display of new heights of pain. 

Again, so I thought.

It was nothing compared to three or four sets of peroxide quad-squirts from a 10cc syringe with a splash shield to guide it directly into the laceration. 

I let loose several George Award worthy streams of profanity.  We took a break between sets when I got pale and queasy but I made it all the way though without pitching off the bed or hurling through the mask.  The only reason I could control myself was the thought of having to start the cleaning process over again after yakking into the cut.

The doctor came in, said the edges were close enough together to use medical grade adhesive to bond the wound instead of stitches, since it would need to be splinted for a week either way. 

I told him about where I worked and we talked shop a bit. For extra fun. I got a tetanus shot too.   I made sure to ask the discharge nurse three important questions.  

1)  Could I have extra tape? 

Which he supplied.  

2) Could he explain the care of the glue and splint?

Which he did.

 and 

3) Could I have a rum and root beer when I got home since I had a rough night?

Which he said "absolutely, enjoy!"
Salute!
 
But wait...there's more.

The next installment of “ The Exciting Finger Saga...” 

Once again, I'll lead with, I'm fine.

Two days later on Monday morning (our anniversary) I noticed a little blood had oozed under and  around the glue.  By the time my meetings finished it was noon and there were no appointments (regular or virtual) with my doctor.  I left an inquiring message and was surprised that I didn't hear anything, considering the inquiring message involved blood leaving my body.  I therefore called him back at four PM, an hour before they closed.   

The doc had left a message with the front desk (the phone system was down much of the day) to try putting pressure and ice on it and if that didn’t work go back to the ER because it probably needed stitches.

yay.

I tried to explain that with the location and position of the injury I couldn’t figure out how to put pressure or ice on it.

Given her reaction, I think the receptionist thought I was freely bleeding all over my personal space,  as she some what frantically encouraged me to go back to the hospital.  Rosa tried putting pressure on it and that only made it ooze more.   

Back to the ER we went.  

This time I got a more experienced Physicians Assistant instead of a young doctor.   The first thing she said was she never splints fingers straight.

yay.  again.   

She checked it and said the glue was mostly doing it’s job.  Her solution was to use my good hand to bend a new splint (to prevent squeezing the injury yet again...she must have heard legends of my voluminous swearing two days before) and dressed it with a tight band aid, and two types of tape to keep pressure on it.  This is what I wanted to try in the first place, although since our crazy glue dried up a couple months ago, I probably wouldn't have reached success.

I elevated it that night after my wife picked up our anniversary dinner at Casa Bella. 

(And me as well, already walking home because I was more than done with hospitals.) 

I can now practice juggling again, with both hands having a slight bend to them...until the next disaster. 

Thanx again for taking care of me Rosa

Click here for some actual cardiac tests in this cardiac topic.