Tuesday, July 24, 2012

"Guess you better slow that Mustang down..."

My fever reached such a pitch that I found myself babbling to Dobby -- as, once again, Dobby was the only living entity williing (even eager, sweet thing) to be with me as I crossed the 102 degree mark.

He likes to hear the story of his birth as I brush his belly.  Don't even try to leave out a part, or his tail starts twitching and he glares.  Should you try to skip over the part where Marmy went to sleep with Dobby only maybe an eighth born, Dobby might gently scratch you or gnaw on your nearest part, in my case, a juicy  thumb.  If you attempt to gloss over his inability to find teat, much less mother's milk, and his early propensity for climbing Marmy in lieu of using her for sustenance, not even a dose of nip will save you.

It was Tuesday, today, infectious disease doods and doodettes day, and I dislike them.  The day, not the doods.  The Tuesdays.

I saw the head honcho ID dood, and that apparently made me forget every question or thing I wished to discuss.  For his part, he had prepared by reviewing all the blood cultures but not the regular lab work.  It wasn't until I got shuffled back to the Infusion Center, where the nurse was giving an inspired rendition of her favorite Zumba workout routine, that I ogled and "oh no-ed" over last week's labs.  She's entertained her captive audience of infected persons, tied to tubing and cuffs, beeping things, before, and usually I don't mind, but today... my head hurt, and my PICC line would not give up any blood, so I was having to sit and wait for this magic roto-rooter stuff to clear the clog. Meaning more shaking, jostling booty Zumba dancing for me.

I first met her last fall, and we went through the whole CRPS explanation and the shoulder situation, and still, today, she likes to punctuate her Zumba Joy by gifting me with little slaps on my left shoulder.  When I ask her to please not touch me, she gives a Zumba Joy Impish Grin and cries, "Why, I guess it's just the nurse in me!" (The desire to touch?)

I should probably call it the body-part-formerly-known-as-shoulder.

Whatever, she is a good nurse but I think something she did today may have triggered this spike.  I think we need to pull this damn PICC line out because it may be the source of the new infection.  After she gave me the clot-busting medicine and so was able to draw labs, I started getting chills, and by the time we got home, I was downright lousy.

Is it crazy to think the PICC line might be infected, even though they've added cefepime?  Two Tuesdays ago, when I got tossed back into Hospital Hilton, I spiked within an hour after doing an infusion.

Okay, I don't have a medical degree, and I know that what looks like cause and effect to a non-sect member makes real medicos chuckle in the dark of night, but come on!

I broke the rules [SURPRISE!] when Tylenol did its usual nothing and dug out my beloved ibuprofen.  I took 600 mg and if I could cross my fingers, oh, sistren and brethren, they'd be so freaking crossed!

I had promised Fred a special tilapia hash stuffed poblano pepper dinner but as he curled up into a blessed nap and I fainted getting out of the wheelchair into bed -- it's San Miguel beer and greek yogurt for everyone!

Feel free to join us.  Dobby's all a-flutter, as he finds poblano peppers pretty tame as far as peppers go, but the dear boy is a yogurt maniac.

When things occasionally really sucked in my life, my Dad used to make me repeat after him that "the sun is still going to come up tomorrow."  How is that comfort, when the evidence screams that tomorrow will be very much like today?

Zumba Nurse was trying, for some reason, to play me her ringtone as I was caterwall-wheeling my way out of the infusion center.  "Mustang Sally." 

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