completely unrelated to previous post . . .

When I was around 10 or 11 years old, I woke up one morning and I couldn't straighten one of my legs. It was stuck bent at the knee such that I couldn't walk without the help of crutches. This was completely unexplainable; there had been no trauma, no illness, nothing had happened that should make my leg seize up like this. The grown-ups started panicking. I thought it was cool to actually need crutches rather than just playing with them for once, and was a little bummed out that I didn't have a cast or anything people could sign. X-rays, ultrasounds, blood tests were done. Pediatric oncologists were consulted (there was worry I might have leukemia). Major string pulling was done by my mother. After days of this, and probably thousands of dollars spent by our health care system on diagnostics, I remembered the previous week after my swimming lessons I had slipped while dancing in the showers at the pool. The whole thing was a strained muscle. People were mad, I felt like an idiot.

The afore mentioned episode, I think, is why when my arm was gigantic and blue in September '05 the whole time I was having diagnostics done I was lying there thinking how ridiculous it all was and how I was probably wasting the systems money and time, and how someone was eventually going to figure out I had done something stupid and I was going to get in shit again. It wasn't until the vascular resident explained the size and seriousness of the blood clot in my arm that I started to feel as though I actually belonged in the hospital, and not until after I was discharged did the seriousness of what had just happened hit me.

The afore mentioned episode, I think, is also probably why even considering my history of a massive DVT and subsequent diagnosis as a thrombophaeliac, I still waited over a week to go in and see my doctor when my arm started bugging me again.

But wait! Don't judge! It wasn't blue this time! It has been slightly swollen, turning numb, feeling very cold (only a sensation on the inside, not actually cold to touch), and getting pins and needles. I showed it to my mom on Wednesday and she told me to go to my own doctor right away. I made an appointment for Friday. I got in to see her and she didn't want to be the one making any decisions about what this was, so sent me on my way but told me to keep my cell phone on cause she'd be calling my vascular surgeon and then calling me back with further instructions. She called me in the middle of grocery shopping and told me the v.s. wanted me to go in for an ultrasound, so I had to go into emergency where I would be fast tracked through via the vascular ward. So I finished my shopping and then went home and unpacked the perishables, quickly filled Paul in, and took off.

After about an hour of hanging around VGH emergency (which was FULL of crazy people, let me tell you), Dr. Baxter (henceforth referred to as D-Bax), the very nice and VERY cute vascular resident showed up and started a flurry of activity, most of which involved me following him through the hospital as he walked very quickly through all sorts of places that were supposed to be off limits to me and batted his eyes at people in various departments saying things like, "I know it's 5pm on a Friday and you're about to go home, but I've got this patient who I really need to get an ultrasound done on because of this history . . ." and whaddya know, lickety split, I was having an ultrasound done. The radiographer was a very lovely lady, and took a great deal of time taking images of the veins in my arm, chest and neck, and showing me cool pictures on the screen and letting me listen to the blood moving through my veins. After a while she left and brought the radiologist back in with her for a consult, and then D-Bax reappeared and they all got to chatting about what the heck was going on with my arm. There was one patch where there was a small vein, a brachael vein they think, which just won't compress where all of the other blood vessels around it will. This indicates the vein has something hard in it, or that the vein walls are hard for some reason. There was also some stuff they could see in the vein which indicates some clotting. The question is; is this an old clot that my body has adapted to (if you get a clot somewhere small and non essential, your body adapts by branching off new veins around it) or a the beginnings of a new acute clot. This question can only be answered with a venogram.

D-Bax is struggling to figure out what the heck to do with me. Option one: keep me in the hospital over the weekend and repeat the clot busting procedure I had last time (heck, it was fun the first time!). Option two: treat the clot with anticoagulant injections. Option three: I give myself injections over the weekend and come back on Monday for a venogram. I was voting for option three. D-Bax was asking if I was supposed to be doing anything this weekend, and informed him I was supposed to be accompanying my sweet sugar pie to Oliver on Saturday afternoon, because he has a race on Sunday morning. He sticks me back in the waiting room at emerg while he runs around and tries to figure out what the heck to do with me. Eventually he reappears with Dr. Fry in tow, who is my vascular surgeon's partner, and also an old geezer, who also knows my mom. They agree that I can leave if I get my first shot in the hospital, and if I come back first thing Monday morning for a venogram. Finally I'm on my way.

Heading to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for seven days worth of injections at the low low price of $207, and on the phone with my mom filling her in on the situation and convincing her to NOT get on the next ferry and come home from the cabin. I'll probably be fine for the weekend, but I have agreed that if anything gets worse or changes, I'll head straight back to emergency. I'll have the venogram done on Monday, and there I'm convinced they'll discover whatever stupid thing I have done, and I will get in trouble. Surely this is a waste of everyone's time and money. Surely.