"Curses, foiled again!"Snidely Whiplash just won't be deterred, even though Dudley Do-Right almost always emerges triumphant in the more cartoonish arenas of my life.
Why, yes, I am Nell Finwick!
Yes, this is The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show!
I am pretty sure that I did not blog about The Smell.
Yes, this is The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show!
I am pretty sure that I did not blog about The Smell.
You'd likely not even miss a beat, as often as I bemoan the fartings and stinky poops of our caterie here at Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé.
Perhaps it is worth taking a moment to assure you that I keep a clean and pleasant Manor. Honest!
No, The Smell to which I refer now came from my suture line -- the incision from last Monday, July 6.
It would have made an entertaining video clip: I kept smelling something cloyingly sweet. Not bad, exactly, just not familiar. Funny thing was that I never smelled it when I went investigating to my *right* -- and when I took off after it by going left, well, I ended up going in circles.
Yes, I am an idiot.
When I realized the source of the odor, this Brainiac also realized that the site had been itching, as well. In terms of pain? I was guarding the shoulder but trying to cut back on post op pain meds. To be frank (echos of "Mr. Pus? Mr. Frank Pus? White courtesy telephone!"), I don't trust my own pain evaluations anymore. Sometime in the past year or so, I became a wimp.
Finally, I decided to remove the dressing, clean the area, and rebandage it. My surgeon prefers that I leave undisturbed the bandage he puts on the morning of discharge from the hospital until I come in for my first post op appointment. (Tuesday, July 21)
Okie-dokie, then!
Imagine the speed with which I threw body and soul into Denial when I saw what amounted to fresh yellowish and bloody drainage... Fresh, having absorbed into the ABD bandage as a shape slightly larger than a dollar bill.
I carefully tended to it, and used good technique in getting it redressed.
I whistled while I worked.
In a bid for sympathy, I showed The Fredster the painterly evidence, and recounted my tale of stinky woe. Perhaps I failed to mention the continuing fever and sweats, the inability to sleep due to pain. Whatever I said, he encouraged me to call the surgeon first thing in the morning.
Well... the next morning, the drainage was only the size of a quarter (What *is* this compulsion to size the Rorschach blots on bandages by comparing them with monetary currency?).
To me, that clearly indicated that -- in lieu of a phone call -- the situation merited a downgrade to email communication. I may have mentioned my aversion to telephones in times of stress? No?
So I shot off this email to my ortho's main squeeze:
Hi Suzie Q --
I have a small problem.
Surgery was 7.6.2009 and I've been doing well -- the post op pain has been a problem only when I use the arm too much, and even though I still am having low grade fevers and sweats, I am also on Zyvox which ought to kill anything.
No problems with the dressing until yesterday, when the wound started to smell a bit (kind of a sweet smell), and itch. I decided to change the dressing and clean the area. Most everything on the bandage was dry and old, except for an area at the bottom of the incision that was draining serosanguinous (pink, some yellow?) stuff.
There was a fair amount that had absorbed into the ABD pad -- a little more than the size of a dollar. I just checked it -- after about 12 hours now, the bandage has about a silver-dollar size circle of the... stuff. There is no pus or anything like that and the incision looks perfectly normal to me except for the area at the bottom where the seepage is being produced -- and, still, that slight smell.
If you think I should come in to be seen at the clinic before my scheduled appt with Bob next week, then I'll certainly come. However, I have an appointment Thursday afternoon with one of Dr. Infectious DiseaseDood's PAs. I am comfortable waiting until then, unless this gets worse, in the hopes that they'll culture it and give me an informed opinion about what to do.
What do you think?
Thanks very much,
Retired Educator
Four hours later, I sent her this, effectively refusing to take responsibility for myself, and backing out of any further investigation:
Hi again --
After all of that, I think the drainage has stopped!
I put a new ABD pad on at about 7 am this morning and now, at 11:30, it is completely clean and dry.
Sorry to have bothered you --
RE
I am perturbed with myself, since the issue was hardly resolved just because I went four hours without a dime or 1913 buffalo nickel's worth of serosanguinous drainage.
There should have been no drainage at all, and certainly not with onset a week after the surgery! Then, of course, there's the issue of nearly two years spent chasing pathogens and other deleterious tiny things. Fever, sweats, pain, drainage. There's no need to page Gregory House.
Today, I went 12 hours without drainage. So I took the damn thing off -- it's hot and sticky, and I just couldn't be bothered, HARRUMPH.
A few minutes ago, I went in to take my sponge bath, a task that feels so good once completed, but seems like it just might kill you while you're in the middle of it -- and what did I see but evidence that there had been another attempted breakout from Axilla Prison.
Whether from the sudden whammy of depression or from the fever I was spiking, I don't know, but I began to shake. I was all a-wobbolly.
Never needing much of an excuse, a break from sanity seemed in order (La Bonne et Belle Bianca was out, having resumed rehearsals with her opera company; Fred was at a Church Supper, hopefully to quash and tear assunder the slutty overtures of The Church Lady ) -- and I paused for a rousing rendition of Waltzing Mathilda. Follow the bouncing ball and sing along with Mitch!
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three,
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?",
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive", said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."
"Oh, You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."
Perhaps it is worth taking a moment to assure you that I keep a clean and pleasant Manor. Honest!
No, The Smell to which I refer now came from my suture line -- the incision from last Monday, July 6.
It would have made an entertaining video clip: I kept smelling something cloyingly sweet. Not bad, exactly, just not familiar. Funny thing was that I never smelled it when I went investigating to my *right* -- and when I took off after it by going left, well, I ended up going in circles.
Yes, I am an idiot.
When I realized the source of the odor, this Brainiac also realized that the site had been itching, as well. In terms of pain? I was guarding the shoulder but trying to cut back on post op pain meds. To be frank (echos of "Mr. Pus? Mr. Frank Pus? White courtesy telephone!"), I don't trust my own pain evaluations anymore. Sometime in the past year or so, I became a wimp.
Finally, I decided to remove the dressing, clean the area, and rebandage it. My surgeon prefers that I leave undisturbed the bandage he puts on the morning of discharge from the hospital until I come in for my first post op appointment. (Tuesday, July 21)
Okie-dokie, then!
Imagine the speed with which I threw body and soul into Denial when I saw what amounted to fresh yellowish and bloody drainage... Fresh, having absorbed into the ABD bandage as a shape slightly larger than a dollar bill.
I carefully tended to it, and used good technique in getting it redressed.
I whistled while I worked.
In a bid for sympathy, I showed The Fredster the painterly evidence, and recounted my tale of stinky woe. Perhaps I failed to mention the continuing fever and sweats, the inability to sleep due to pain. Whatever I said, he encouraged me to call the surgeon first thing in the morning.
Well... the next morning, the drainage was only the size of a quarter (What *is* this compulsion to size the Rorschach blots on bandages by comparing them with monetary currency?).
To me, that clearly indicated that -- in lieu of a phone call -- the situation merited a downgrade to email communication. I may have mentioned my aversion to telephones in times of stress? No?
So I shot off this email to my ortho's main squeeze:
Hi Suzie Q --
I have a small problem.
Surgery was 7.6.2009 and I've been doing well -- the post op pain has been a problem only when I use the arm too much, and even though I still am having low grade fevers and sweats, I am also on Zyvox which ought to kill anything.
No problems with the dressing until yesterday, when the wound started to smell a bit (kind of a sweet smell), and itch. I decided to change the dressing and clean the area. Most everything on the bandage was dry and old, except for an area at the bottom of the incision that was draining serosanguinous (pink, some yellow?) stuff.
There was a fair amount that had absorbed into the ABD pad -- a little more than the size of a dollar. I just checked it -- after about 12 hours now, the bandage has about a silver-dollar size circle of the... stuff. There is no pus or anything like that and the incision looks perfectly normal to me except for the area at the bottom where the seepage is being produced -- and, still, that slight smell.
If you think I should come in to be seen at the clinic before my scheduled appt with Bob next week, then I'll certainly come. However, I have an appointment Thursday afternoon with one of Dr. Infectious DiseaseDood's PAs. I am comfortable waiting until then, unless this gets worse, in the hopes that they'll culture it and give me an informed opinion about what to do.
What do you think?
Thanks very much,
Retired Educator
Four hours later, I sent her this, effectively refusing to take responsibility for myself, and backing out of any further investigation:
Hi again --
After all of that, I think the drainage has stopped!
I put a new ABD pad on at about 7 am this morning and now, at 11:30, it is completely clean and dry.
Sorry to have bothered you --
RE
I am perturbed with myself, since the issue was hardly resolved just because I went four hours without a dime or 1913 buffalo nickel's worth of serosanguinous drainage.
There should have been no drainage at all, and certainly not with onset a week after the surgery! Then, of course, there's the issue of nearly two years spent chasing pathogens and other deleterious tiny things. Fever, sweats, pain, drainage. There's no need to page Gregory House.
Today, I went 12 hours without drainage. So I took the damn thing off -- it's hot and sticky, and I just couldn't be bothered, HARRUMPH.
A few minutes ago, I went in to take my sponge bath, a task that feels so good once completed, but seems like it just might kill you while you're in the middle of it -- and what did I see but evidence that there had been another attempted breakout from Axilla Prison.
Whether from the sudden whammy of depression or from the fever I was spiking, I don't know, but I began to shake. I was all a-wobbolly.
Never needing much of an excuse, a break from sanity seemed in order (La Bonne et Belle Bianca was out, having resumed rehearsals with her opera company; Fred was at a Church Supper, hopefully to quash and tear assunder the slutty overtures of The Church Lady ) -- and I paused for a rousing rendition of Waltzing Mathilda. Follow the bouncing ball and sing along with Mitch!
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three,
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?",
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive", said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me".
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me"
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."
"Oh, You'll come a-Waltzing Matilda, with me."
And so, tomorrow at the InfectiousDiseaseDood's Place, I will come clean, do a show-and-tell with a little shoulder, a little leg, a little shoulder, a little leg...
Because, dear friends, the game is [again] afoot with these doggone titanium implants: My new prosthesis is infected, Zyvox be damned.
And I am so sad.
There's a track winding back
to an old-fashioned shack,
Along the road to Gundagai.
Where the gum trees are growin'
and the Murrumbidgee's flowin'
beneath the starry sky.
Oh my mother and daddy are waitin' for me
And the pals of my childhood once more I will see
And no more will I roam 'cos I'm headin' right for home
Along the road to Gundagai.*
*"Along The Road To Gundagai is a song written by Jack O'Hagan in 1922. It is well-known among Australians, and one of a small number of pieces which could be considered an Australian folk tune. The town of Gundagai is a rural town of New South Wales, Australia. In May 2001 the Australasian Performing Right Association (APRA), as part of its 75th Anniversary celebrations, named "Along the Road to Gundagai" as one of the Top 30 Australian songs of all time." -- Wikiwikiwikiwikipeeeeeedeeeeeeyahhhh!
**************************************************************************************************
UPDATE -- Thursday, 16 July 2009
Jesus H. Christ, do I hate the InfectiousDiseaseDood's office. Ah, but that is neither here nor there, and certainly is not news.
ID-Dood made the bacteriologist -- who identified a gram positive bacteria in the stain (but not culture) from the "deep tissue" sample taken during last week's surgery -- take another look.
I can hear him saying, in his very precise way: "Check your work! Please and Thank You!"
The guy changed his freaking little, tiny mind and now says he sees no pesky pathogens after all. For most people, that'd be great news, cause for a celebration, even. For me and my medicos? It's yet another sucker punch.
ID-Dood's PA talked over me, and over me, and over me. She's ask a question, I'd start to answer, she'd start talking, I'd stop. Again and again, until I finally stopped even trying. She cultured the fluid still drip-drip-dripping out of the suture line. She ordered blood cultures and the usual labs. (I was febrile and tachy -- yawn.)
Their phlebotomist is a sweetheart of a man. He had to stick me four times and was upset with himself -- but really he did well, given what he had to work with. He even managed to get an extra tube, "just in case." Mostly, he's a pleasure because he's... normal. Nice to talk with, very professional but with a great sense of humor. Talks to the blood vessels, encourages the blood to flow. (Maybe he needs to break out of the lab for some fresh air.)
So... here I am, left hanging. Fred is oh-so-frustrated. The PA kept making blithe comments like: "Well, you should be used to this by now!" and "You should write a book, telling people how to deal with stuff like this." Good thing she cannot read minds.
I reiterated, just to have something of note to say, that I will NOT give up this implant. I told her that I needed them to get "creative." She took umbrage. [Was saying that rude? I didn't mean to insult anyone, just wanted it clear: I WILL NOT GIVE UP THIS IMPLANT, I don't care how infected is the bone.]
Fred thought of something that has me laughing out loud. I got the hospital bill today -- $40,800, with the prosthesis constituting $13,000 of that charge for a 3-day stay. He pointed out that they've removed two -- in August and then December 2008 -- and suggested that I should ask for them back! To my incredulous, "but what do I want with titanium shoulder implants that aren't... implanted?" -- he answers, "You bought 'em, they're yours!"
Cracked me up!
So. We wait. On cultures and labs. On next weeks' assessment by the surgical crowd. Once again, no one wants to be in charge.
For your inner crooner's pleasure, today we turn to the Music Outback Foundation and some fresh young Bush Bards:
Bush Bus
Written by: Students & teachers from Apungalindum & Aniltji HLC
with Matt Hill, Music Outback Education
(C)(P) 2006 Music Outback Foundation
Verse 1
The bus goes through sand and water,
The bus is old and slow.
The bus goes through hot and cold,
It's full of kids we know.
Verse 2
Josilyn sitting in the front,
Randall's happy anywhere,
Riding along the bus is old,
Laughing along without a care
Chorus
Bush bus, bush bus
Take us to school
Bush bus, bush bus
You're so cool.
Verse 3
Little kids, big kids say thank you,
We will miss you goodbye bus,
Bouncing like a Kangaroo,
Thank you for being so good to us.
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