Good and Bad Again

Friday, September 23, 2011: This morning, Lindsey took me to Dr. Bradley's SLC office to get my 19 (gulp!) staples out. I was nervous because I can sort of remember that it pinched and stung the last time I got staples out six months ago. He came into the exam room and then went back out again to look for the "staple remover". We laughed that he had to run to Office Max. But lo and behold, those 19 staples came out slick as can be! No pinching, no pain. My adorable rope wound is still kind of numb, so I didn't feel anything but a bit of a sting at the end. Tender mercy! Hip-hip!

Linds and I remember to ask Dr. B all the relevant questions we were both pondering - had he sent Dr. Grossmann the pathology reports yet? Could I get a "prescription" to Physical Therapy again (and I promise I'll go this time)? He answered everything in his usual informative way and then, right as he was going to leave the room, he said, "How's your calf?" I didn't understand him at first (I thought he said "cath" ???) - oh, my leg. Well, it still hurts. Weird, huh? Sometimes it hurts worse than the wound. "Let's send you downstairs for an ultrasound," he says like he's sending me out for pizza. "A cramped muscle shouldn't still be hurting after a week."

I took Linds home to take care of her littles, did a little checkbook balancing, checked email, and then drove back to the clinic. I wore my floppy pajama pants, but they still made me change into a gown so they could view the "whole leg". The sweet little technician let me watch the screen for a few minutes and see the "wink" of the artery as it pumped blood, but as I was looking to the right, my neck started to hurt and I stared at the ceiling instead. She pushed on my thigh, up near my groin, and slowly moved down to behind my knee and onto my calf. Once in a while, she turned the volume of the machine up and I heard the ocean-whooshing of the blood rushing through my veins. Kind of cool. She went over the area behind my knee a bit longer than the other spots and then announced she was finished. She gave me a towel to wipe the sticky gel off my leg and said she'd be right back after conferring with the radiologist. Uh oh.

I know I cause myself more stress and worry because I don't ask enough questions. As she came to get me to take me back to the dressing room, why didn't I say, "So, what did you find? What did the radiologist say? What is it? Huh? HUH?" No, not me. I walk behind her like a meek little mouse, all the while thinking I've got a blood clot the size of New York City lurking around and it's going to go galloping up the vein to my heart in the next five seconds. She tells me to get dressed and go back up to Dr. Bradley's office, where he will give me the results of the ultrasound. Again, I ask no questions. Silly girl.

When Dr. B's nurse, Carol, sees me, she says, "Lisa, what are we going to do with you?" And when I laugh nervously, she says, "It's just a good thing you got that done today, isn't it?" So, she knows - and I don't. She tells me to sit on a chair in the hallway instead of in an exam room and that Dr. B will be right out to talk to me since he's in with a patient. He comes out, but I'm pretending to read my library book, and Carol comes down the hall and says, "Lisa has a clot. The radiologist wants to talk to you as soon as you're available." There. She knows, he knows, and now, I know. I have a blood clot in my leg.

Dr. Bradley sits beside me and tells me that there is a clot (he calls it some fancy medical term), but that is there is some good news mixed in with the bad. The clot is small and is only blocking one-third of the vein, allowing blood to continue to flow through. He explains that this may mean my body has already been trying to dissolve it, and that this presents a unique and challenging treatment. He says he wants to confer with Dr. Beckstead, my primary care physician in Bountiful, and that he'll call me to let me know the plan of action. I leave the clinic in a daze again, which is becoming more the norm than the exception.

I'm barely a few blocks away when my cell phone rings. It's Dr. Bradley, and he talks to me as if he's phoning an old friend with dinner plans. He has talked to Dr. Beckstead and they agree that I should take two approaches to this clot. The first is to do INJECTIONS of a blood thinner - heavy-duty power - twice a day for five days. The second part is to take blood thinning pills - one and a half pills at first, then down to one in the end. I will see Dr. Beckstead on Monday, where he will test my blood to see if the injections are starting to do their job. After that, he will continue to monitor the situation, and in fact, has told Dr. B that he is "happy to take care of me." I've heard it all, but I'm still hyperventilating about the INJECTION word. I hear myself ask, "I have to give myself a shot?" Yes, Dr. B says, a little injection twice a day in the stomach. "Will you have any problem with that?" Is that a real question? YES, I WILL!! "Do you have a family member who can help you?" All this time and I still can't even watch Dean give himself insulin shots. My head is nodding, yes, but my stomach is twisting in knots. Am I really that big of a baby? YES!

I get the shots from the pharmacy, along with my gallon of milk, loaf of bread, and Raisin Bran. All in a day's purchase from my friendly grocer. Dr. Bradley had said earlier, "I'm sure you have no idea about all of this, since you've been so healthy." That's right! I am learning things I don't want to know! I'm sure the pharmacist sees the fear in my eyes because he wishes me good luck as he tries to avoid staring at my wound. I'm sure he's thinking, that poor girl, how much more does she have to endure? I'm thinking the same thing.

I can't do the first shot. I can't even look at the needle and pull it out of its protective packaging. Dean shows me how he does his injections. "Look, it's easy," he says, as he aims that needle toward my belly. I lose it. I cry like a little kid getting a shot in the bum at the doctor's office. He says to look away and he'll do it quick, so I do...and he does. It doesn't hurt - until he pulls it out, and then it stings. Bad. I'll have to do it myself in the morning. It may take me ALL morning to gather up the courage. I'm such a wimp. After all I've been through in the past six months, this may be my undoing. I'm feeling very picked on tonight.

"What am I supposed to learn from THIS?" I ask Dean. "Maybe that it's not so bad," he says wisely. Darn, I hate it when he's right.