I didn't ask about any of the other numbers.
Pain levels are effingly high but -- in the context of these wonderful numbers -- who cares? Okay, I care. A lot. My behavior is out of line, has been for a number of days, directly related to pain -- although anyone with a brain knows that behavior is nothing but a string of choices.
I am being self-indulgent and making poor choices.
I had no fever yesterday, have beaucoup today. I actually feel slightly better with a fever. Go figure. Marmy and Sam-I-Am have just been caught with their paws in the pizza pie. Uh-oh.
[Some of this pain ought to be diminishing now that I know how little I was/am supposed to be using/moving my right shoulder/arm. How was I supposed to deduce a limit of 90 and 10 degrees in forward and lateral movement from the simple exhortation to "baby that arm"? This is what results from experiencing too many unusual surgeries with unusual post-op instructions -- I completely forget how to treat a "normal" shoulder replacement.]
There's little room to describe it otherwise: we had a thoroughly rotten time of it yesterday. The day before had also been long -- at the orthopedic surgeon's place. I started out the day tired -- sleep, none. We got there five minutes late but no problem because the Infectious Disease office had no record of my appointment, despite the fact that I go in every Wednesday, and had chatted with the PA on the phone last Thursday about rechecking the labs and continuing with the daptomycin instead of switching to zyvox. I made the appointment as we exited last week, else it wouldn't have been entered in my PDA, and not at a 2 o'clock time, either -- we usually do 11 am or 1 pm. Anyway, so we sat in the waiting area for two hours. Why, when it was their error, were we punished? The nurses even were snotty -- as if I was the one who forgot to register the appointment. I didn't get to see the doc -- waited all that time just to get the PICC dressing changed and labs drawn.
Lots of time in the room with the comfy chairs -- Fred sleeps through my hellish time with Sex-Addicted Nurse Gossipmeister.
That would be the nutty nurse who does the sterile procedures and coaxes blood out of recalcitrant ports. After a gaunt and clearly ill little old lady -- all of 4'10" -- tottered out on some amazing patent leather stilettos, wrapped up in a mink stole, she launched into a diatribe about the emotional guilt that is behind most cancer diagnoses. On and on she went, talking about how faith could cure but only iffen you wanted it, only iffen you had true faith... Until I blew up in her face. She gave a typical asshole response: i'm just sayin' followed by whatever topped off by yawn. I believe those phrases are claim to a policy of nuclear non-proliferation.
or something.
i'm just sayin'.
yawn.
whatever.
meh.
So she and I, we did not start out well. I don't know why I am compelled to tell truthes that don't need telling when I am hurting, and/or a tad pissed off -- it is like there is no room for anything else. Finally ushered back to the infusion area, she crows, "Looks like you had to wait a while! That's what happens! Well, you know, everything happens for a reason, don't you think [hum hum hum...]? The Lord is gooooood! Amen!"
[i break out in what is technically known as ick-hives. that'd be ick-inspired bumpy red itchy hives from all the ambient ickiness. in this case, pseudo-religious ick. ick!
marmy, what do you think? "*ack*-*ack*-*ack*"
right on, marmy!]
"No, I don't think. I hate that expression. Everything does not happen for a reason. That's ridiculous."
Talk about raining on someone's innocent, if clueless and often intentionally cruel, parade.
Good thing she didn't spout off about God opening windows when doors are slamming the hell shut. In mysterious ways and all. I'm just sayin'.
By the time we made it through rush hour traffic and got home, my right leg was double its normal exaggerated size and bright boiled-lobster red. The left was not so bad, but also had some bright red spots among its traditional purple hue. A few hours later was when the pain went ballistic, and hasn't let up since. The swelling and color are both better today, heading to status quo. Hopefully, my pain levels will follow suit.
I didn't take lasix, though that's likely what The Boutiqueur would have suggested (I take 40 mg prn). Why not? It seems a weird thing to do when the problem is mostly one-sided, that is, my left side wasn't nearly as edematous as the walrus-like right side.
Sitting on the toilet, looking at my swollen misshapen weirdly-colored legs, I was disgusted and could not and cannot imagine how anyone else would or could react with less of a serious gag reflex. It wouldn't be enough to take down all mirrors.
I would need to put my eyes out, too. Remember, though, to do it *last* as taking down the mirrors might require minimal vision.
Do 100 words on the moral dilemma: Shall I put his eyes out, too? Would the threat of having their eyes removed keep people at bay, keep them out of my cave?
It hurts awfully to try and stand, and the thought of the many trips to the bathroom, after furosemide, was daunting. But my hands are very puffy, too -- maybe I will rethink that decision -- tomorrow morning. Never add lasix to your regimen at night!
The Fredster and I are not doing well. It is mostly my fault. I mean, just read how I was treating Ms. "Holistic" Guess-Who-I-Slept-With-Last-Week Nursey. Yes, she regales me with her sexual escapades and there is this Bizarro Dr. Laura persona in me that creeps out when she does, wanting to say things like: you haven't even gotten your divorce yet and you have three young daughters who must be wondering what the hell has happened to their world...
Every week I explain to her that my arm shouldn't be rotated the way she likes to position it -- and week after week she nods in understanding, rotates it anyway, and then spouts a word of wisdom like, "They ought to do sumpthin' about that. Tsk. Tsk."
Right now I want to throw something at Fred. He plopped on the bed with a couple a'slices of pizza pie, grabbed the remote, changed the channel, then said, you weren't watching the news, were you? click click click
But, hey, how about them labs, bay-bee?
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