Monday, August 20, 2012


For those of you playing along at home, I had a big day planned yesterday, a great deal to do to get ready for work at the paleo homestead. Did some stuff in the morning, went to scope out a side job, and went to breakfast with Sweetie, B-I-L, Deedee (S-I-L) and Sarabear (Deedee's SO). Following breakfast, I had already told Sweetie that I was going to go to Urgent Care, had some swelling in my foot, and being diabetic I get nervous about amputations, blindness, neuropathy, penisi failurus, all that joy. Gotta be careful, but I could guess at the result and likely doctoral conversation - "Dude, you're a wreck, take advil and quit bothering us."

In the manner of a great major league pitcher, however, the doctor threw a change-up, caught me completely flat-footed. (See what I did there?)

I once had a DVT, and have been hypersensitive to the symptoms, as I understood them to be, ever since. I did not have those symptoms. He, after eliminating the conversation I imagined, sent my ass to the emergency room to check for happy clotiness. Fuck, I know this routine.

Go to emergency room, flash my junk at one and all (not deliberately), get smeared with something uncomfortably warm and gooey, get an ultrasound of leg, including the swollen painful part, wait 2 hours because there are actual people with emergencies in the emergency room, and then either:

a.) Get sent home with a dirty look and advil for wasting their time.
b.) Everyone loses their shit until I get IV'ed and admitted and I don't get to do anything at all for a couple weeks until blood is thin enough that I don't keel over and cause a lawsuit by my grieving widow and her healthy life insurance settlement.
I chose option c.
c.) Whatever else happened, no clot, but the skin is infected so antibiotics and can't do anything today and won't enjoy doing anything tomorrow and the next day.

So, watching Mythbusters (or as sweetie calls it, "You're stalking Kari again?"), catching up on important planning and paperwork. Over the weekend I did find one of my old stories when I fancied myself a gonzo journalist, I'll post that tonight.

Bored must have lunch. Ta.

1 comment:

  1. Go to emergency room, flash my junk at one and all (not deliberately)

    Yeah, right. If you didn't want them to see it, why'd you make them open the box?