Score One Point For Me...

...no DVT! Interesting that my G.P. had the test done at the hospital...now I know why, though. The tech told me that if they found anything, I would not have been allowed to leave and would have been admitted right away. REALLY glad the test was negative.

Got to talking with the girl who did the patient paperwork, though...turns out she used to be a dental assistant, just like me. So we swapped a few dental stories. As usual, she worked for a DDS who had all the warmth and personality of sandpaper (most do). I've been SO lucky with my past bosses...well, some of them, anyway.

So, now I just have to go BACK to my pain management Dr. and see what the HELL is going on with this stupid knee, already. Next up is yet another MRI to see inside the damned thing.

Also took Phoenix the roo to the vet, he's got an infection of the footpad known as Bumblefoot going on--very hard to clear up. Doc cleaned it out some, we get to do most of the work on that, twice a day plus antibiotic injections twice daily. Phoenix is gonna be one pissed-off housechicken until his foot heals, which can take up to a month--Bumblefoot is notoriously hard to clear up. Phoenix is BIG and loves to jump UP on things, then jumps DOWN and that's when the footpad gets traumatized. He's just too heavy to be pulling that nonsense.

Luckily he's a complete gentleman, and has our two little one legged chicks for company, so he won't be too lonely. But reintroducing him to the flock and managing Scott, our bantam roo's behavior is gonna be a bitch...cross that bridge when we come to it!

Oh...Well, That Might Explain It, Then...

Just got back from my pain management doctor, told her about my last month of huge right knee pain. She took a look and seems to think I may have DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) going on in there. She compared the left & right leg and sees more swelling and redness in my right knee and calf than the left.

So, off to my regular MD I go this afternoon, for a Doppler Ultrasound of the knee to see if, indeed, I gotta a blood clot in there. Although it WOULD explain the shitty monster pain I've been having in that knee, I'd just as soon NOT have a new and possibly-fatal-at-any-moment issue going on. I have no desire to take blood thinners and/or go to the hospital, this kind of drama I do not need. Myself, I suspect there is not a blood clot and it's just my crappy knee flaring, but like I always used to tell dental patients with a confusing array of symptoms: there is no reason why you can't have more than one thing going on at a time. And DVT is nothing to ignore.

Please be wrong, doc.

Too Many Irons In The Fire...

Medically speaking. Between myself, my husband and the kid, it's been the Summer Of Medical Issues at our house, continuing it's wildly popular sold-out run into the Fall!

yay.

And, southern California is burning. Again.

Bleah...

OK yesterday was a fluke. Back to feeling really crappy again and getting worse. Back to the doctor again tomorrow I guess. Oh God, PLEASE let me keep out of the hospital...I don't have time for that BS...

Today brings another new medicine: a PINT (that's 480 doses, zowee!) of Prometh w/Codiene 10 mg. cough syrup. The bottle is ridiculously large and must weigh in at around several pounds. When J. brought it home, he gave it to me with, "Here's your fifth of cough medicine!"

Please tell me the doctor does NOT expect me to drink that whole damned thing...

Today sister J. came and whisked little N. away for the day so J. and I could get some rest...he REALLY needs it, he's been pulling solo parent duty, working full time+ and caring for me for the last week and a half. He's tired. His family has been wonderfully supportive and right there. Great folks. :)

Side note: I see the side of the Predisone package carries a warning: "This medicine may lower your ability to fight off infections. Avoid people who have contagious diseases."

Wait--that's me. Tell me again how to avoid myself...?

Fun With Pneumonia

Here are the fruits of my stupidity, what I get to eat for my meals these days till further notice:

Robitussin AC (with Codiene) Cough syrup, 2 teaspoonfuls every 4 hours.
Levaquin antibiotic 500 mg. tablets, 1 a day.
Amox TR-K CL antibiotic 875 mg. twice per day.
Methylprednisolone (Prednisone) 4 mg. tablets, 6 per day.
Albuterol 90 mcg. inhaler, two puffs every 8 hours.
Azmacort 100 mcg. inhaler, 4 puffs twice daily.

Most of this stuff is screamingly expensive (nearly $500.00), frighteningly strong and tastes like death. The inhalers flavor your every breath and swallow for hours, and dry your throat out so you COUGH MORE! I had to make myself a schedule, I was spending so much time taking medicine.

Backstory:
OK, so on Memorial Day weekend, I come down with a VERY nasty fever and a very slight, almost unnoticeable bit of congestion in my lungs. I figure I'm getting a cold and start with the OTC decongestant/supressant/expectorant cough syrup and Tylenol. After 5 days of 102 to 104 degree fever, which cheerfully shows no signs of being in ANY way affected by the Tylenol, the lung gunkies take a turn for the worse and become the worst tasting stuff I've ever experienced.

Now, this is saying a LOT.

It's foul. I can't even describe it properly--it was mostly bitter, with some salty-sickly-sweet-death taste mixed in, and it was STRONG. I knew that this was BAD, so I started myself on some Penicillin I had. I figured it was a chest cold gone awry, and spent most of my time trying to sleep/cough till I pulled muscles/sweat/freeze from chills.

No dice. The fever cleared after about 7 days, the lung gunk remained, evil as ever. OK, continue with cough syrup, slack off a bit on the Penicillin.

Until last weekend, when the fever creeps back and I start to feel really, dangerously ill. The kind where you want to turn to your spouse and say, "OK, call 911..." On Wednesday I give up and go see the doctor, resigned to having my ass chewed out for trying to self-medicate and avoid his office (he did, and I deserved it). Almost three hours later I'd had a chest x-ray (his reaction was, and I quote, an eye-popping "GOD--!"), a diagnosis of Viral Pneumonia (which I'd kinda figured out) provided him the sample of lung cookies he wanted, had a nebuliser breathing treatment, a HUGE shot of Roecefin (killer antiobiotic) to the hip and got the bad news that my blood O2 (oxygen) levels were only one point away from 'hospital time'. He gave me FIVE prescriptions to fill and told me to come back the next day for another breathing treatment and another shot of Roecefin, which I did. He also added another antibiotic to the pile of medications I was taking for a grand total of 6.

That night was scary as I got REALLY ill, and I realize that had I waited just one more day, or even a few more hours, hospitalization would have been the only option. It hurt to breathe, I COULDN'T breathe, I was coughing insanely and the high fever made a spectacular comeback. The next day I managed to drag myself back to his office for more of the same. My blood O2 levels had not changed and he stared at me long and hard, obviously trying to decide if he was gong to stick me in the hospital. The only thing that saved me was the fact that I felt a *tiny* bit better. OK, he says. If you don't feel *BETTER* by tomorrow, come in again for another breathing treatment and shot. OK.

So progress was made finally today, Saturday--I'm out of bed for the first time in more than a week, although I am 23 pounds lighter, still have no appetite and cannot eat, which to my surprise isn't bothering me in the least. I figure it's the negative side effect I'm getting from having to have three different kinds of high-powered antibiotics in me. Antibiotics kill off ALL the bacteria in your gut, the good AND the bad.

Which just makes for one more medication to be added to the routine: Imodium.

Life is a joy. Hopefully in another few days I'll be able to walk across the room without having to stop and rest and get my wind back.

In conclusion, DON'T BE ME. I'm an idiot. The nurse says this crap is making the rounds, and it's damned sneaky and nasty, starts out just like mine. If you start to feel ill, get to the doctor right away...

*bleah*

Bleah

I'd like to exchange this week for another, please.

No, it wasn't the weather, the midweek rain was just enough to make everything muddy, and I discovered that one of my windshield wipers keeps falling annoyingly out of the bottom clip.

It wasn't the kid, either...although she did do time in the principal's office...again...

Mostly it was my teeth.

No, that's not right, either...it wasn't all of my teeth, it was juuuust one.

The one that needed a root canal.

I find this doubly annoying and a personal affront since I am a Registered Dental Assistant, and know all about all that stuff on how to take care of your teeth. This tooth didn't even have any fillings in it, for cri-yi. It simply started to hurt, got dramatically worse before my appointment for next week, and when I went in on Tuesday to get it checked out, needed a root canal. For added fun, he couldn't get it numb, either and had to keep poking away at me with the syringe. Sometimes all you can do is hang on until it's done, which I know from my years in the assistant's chair. So now I've got the classic swollen face, can't speak or eat, etc. Some fun.

I also have another of my chickens in the house, living out her last days. She is one of a set of identical twin sisters, and I think suffered internal damage from suddenly coming back into lay after many years--she's too old for such nonsense. When we got these two buff bantam cochin hens in 1996 they were already adults so we have no idea of their true age, but they have been with us for 10 years. Since we couldn't tell them apart, we named them The Chicken Sisters (after a favorite book of my daughters'). They are cute little buff-colored fluffballs and did everything together, they were never more than 6 inches apart. They even brooded a clutch of eggs together and raised chicks. We have never seen them peck at each other or fight.

I think at her age she's not going to recover. She is in the house and seperated from her sister for the first time, which we did not like to do, but the other girl was freaking out because of being in the house. We will keep her warm, comfortable, safe and loved until her time comes.

Other, more serious and depressing things are going on this week as well, all of which just leave me...tired of life. Some times are like that, and it's a struggle to find anything good.

Happiness ISN'T...

...getting your freakin' leg whacked open from stem to stern. Here comes a full-on whine: DAMN, MY LEG HURTS!!!

OK...that's better. At least yesterday I made it down to the doctor to get the 900 ton cast removed. Since I couldn't get my left leg into the car on the driver's side around all the gas/brake/emergency brake pedals, J. had to drive me. I took along my old friend, Das Boot (a Frankenstein-ish orthopeadic boot, complete with numerous adjustment knobs, heavy duty black velcro straps and steel reinforcements, it looks like something Q would invent) that I had from the original broken ankle back in 2000. Lucky I did, since they were nice enough to cut off the bulky cast and replace it with the boot, but with a no-nonsense steely gaze and stern instructions NOT to walk around without the boot, and then even only when strictly neccessary.

No problem there. Especially since walking feels like someone is cheerfully holding a red-hot poker against my leg, it's automatically self-limiting. Since they had to make an even bigger incision to remove the hardware than they do to place it, the current incision is something on the order of 10 inches long. J. inspected it last night and said, "Hey, now you've got another new scar!" Whoopee. I told him I was going to come up with an interesting story to go along with it, maybe involving a bar fight down at the docks or the time that little voodoo doll came alive and chased me around the house wielding a butcher knife. Hmmm....