The Cure/Sponge Bath???

One of the fascinating things about requiring medical attention concerns new skills one has to acquire and new information about medicine. I have now had the learning opportunity of spending the better part of each day this week in the hands of surgeons, technicians and nurses who have told me a lot of things and taught me that yes, though not pretty, I can give myself shots in my stomach fat.

Years ago, after hernia surgery, a matronly Peruvian nurse surprised me early in the morning by announcing that she had come to give me a sponge bath! I laughed, actually thinking she was joking but, no, she was all business and got right to work. Not having had a sponge bath since babyhood, I had no clue how to receive it with dignity. Turns out, there is no way… always the helpful sort, and inherently timid about such things, I did what I thought she required of me. Diligently I strove to cover certain sensitive anatomical regions by shifting sheet and gown about strategically to keep these parts out of sight of the nurse to keep from offending her, as I supposed…, the comical bit here is that I actually thought I helped in my assiduous but deluded efforts.

All went along fine until she needed to work in that the neck of the woods in question, so to speak. My dabbling in the process impeded her professional efforts so at this point, she grasped the sheet firmly, snatched it from my hands and flung it deftly, arching it across the room to fall against the far wall. With this she very competently and clearly informed me that my help in the process was no longer required or welcome, as though it had ever been, and that I should just let her get on with her job. I submitted respectfully and dutifully if with little decorum to the rest of the sponge bath.

It did help me overcome my excessive bashfulness by the way.

In my last blog, I told about the ER but it bears repeating that the health care professionals seem to have considered it their responsibility to scare the you-know-what out of me. Though I don’t panic easily, I have gained respect for my current problem. No one has ever told me this often that I could die if I don’t do…, at least not so frequently.

In part, the strange element here is that the cure can kill me just as dead as the problem if I mess it up. Here is what I know. I have clots in my right leg. The clots can rip loose at any time and hurtle across my body to my heart, lungs or brain and snuff me out in a heart attack, embolism or stroke. I have to lie down with my foot higher than my chest until the clots stabilize and then they supposedly get absorbed back into my system.

Meanwhile, they give me medicine to thin my blood down so this does not happen again. I started off having to shoot myself in the belly twice each day with some stuff to kick start the blood thinning. Now I take daily pills called Coumadin or Warfarin to keep it thinner. According to the doctor, I get to do that for several months at least. Here is the kicker though; the pills are actually rat poison. No joke, it makes rats bleed out internally because of an overdose and I suspect that because of size differentials, my daily dose would dust off a rat. The doctors monitor me each day to tell them if my blood is getting thin enough or too thin. Meanwhile they tell me in each visit, if I have blood in my stools, unexplained blood in your mouth, nose bleeds, blood shot eyes, coughing up blood, chest pains, difficulty breathing and so on, get to the ER immediately. Oh goody, another cultural roller coaster!

Now, I have a little question here. Who, is the guy who decided, “Hey, let’s try rat poison and see if human blood gets thin?” Whatever happened to good old blood letting or did leaches just go out of fashion? But seriously, who thinks up any of this stuff?