Haven’t had much to say lately. Clark Kent family & work stuff. Will probably have a real post up tomorrow. It may be excessively profane! Or perhaps not.
Tag: doctors
Ow holy god shit ow OW in which I don’t OW go to the OW hospital OW but maybe OW I should? Ow.
I swear this just happened: I was getting my son ready for bed– read him a story and all– and was sort of wrestling and tickling and playing with him and he entirely accidentally elbowed me in the jaw and I swear to God he hit it just right and dislocated the fucking thing. And like half a second later I just reached up with my hand and somehow, like, popped it back into place? And there was a few seconds of absolutely tremendous horrifying pain and maybe another readjustment or two and now my whole face just feels swollen and weird and okay I can talk and I just ate something and I’m not dying but my face is not supposed to feel like this.
Is that even a possible thing? That my kid might have knocked my jaw out of place with an elbow and that I just put it back a half-second later without knowing what I was doing or even thinking about it? Because really ow I didn’t like that very much but I feel like maybe I fixed it?
Also: ow.
Just checking, pt. 2
Occasionally I have reason to call customers that have been in my store but I haven’t actually sold something to. Sometimes it’s because they’ve asked me to keep an eye out for something for them and I’ve seen a piece I think they’ll like. Sometimes it’s because something they were thinking about buying has gone on sale and I’m hoping I can convince them to come in and buy.
Actually it’s pretty much just those two reasons.
So this guy came in two weekends ago with his two kids and his wife. He’d been in at least twice with one of the boys previously, and I’d talked to him both times pretty much by pure coincidence. He and his son picked out five thousand dollars worth of bedroom furniture. Five thousand dollars of fairly ridiculously ornate furniture.
For a fifteen-year-old. We’ll lay that aside for the moment.
At any rate, they didn’t buy. Dad said he’d be back “tomorrow” with cash and I sent them with a quote. And they didn’t show the next day, which isn’t entirely surprising. It happens. But I had his phone number, so when we had an “everything on sale” thing going this weekend I called him and let him know I could save him some money. Left a message. Today was the last day of that sale, so I thought I’d leave one more message for him.
He answered the phone. I said who I was and where I was from.
“I’m with a patient right now,” he said. “I’ll have to call you back.”
252-word leadup to this question: what the fuck kind of doctor keeps his cell phone on while he’s meeting with patients, much less answers it when he doesn’t recognize the number? Have any of you ever had a doctor answer a goddamn cell phone while you were with him? That’s fucked up, right? I’m not crazy here?
He didn’t call me back, by the way.
Do not do any Google searches based on this post
In fact, have a fluffy kitten from my Instagram account:
This adorable kitteh has adopted my parents and we’re trying to decide who’s taking him for real. I really really want to except for the part where I already have an elderly cat and an elderly dog and I’m really not sure how kindly either of them will take to a new younger cat. So maybe we won’t make him ours. Or maybe we will. I dunno.
So my middle toe on my right foot is rotting off. I clipped my toenails last Sunday and managed to fuck it up on my middle toe and it bled a little bit. Monday night the sky exploded and my basement filled with water or at least part of it did and I spent who knows how long wading in Ebola water barefoot. Then my toe started changing colors and shit and the doctor I went to see yesterday got to say things to me like “Oh, yeah, you’re gonna lose all the skin there” and “it’s probably not MRSA,” only she spelled MRSA out, like emm-arr-ess-ay, and who the hell does that?
And then she gave me a broad-spectrum antibiotic to take, and explained carefully that there was only a little chance that my penicillin allergy meant that I was also allergic to this drug also, and even if I was well I just had a rash the last time I had penicillin, when I was five, so I probably won’t die if I have something like penicillin today.
On the plus side, I know how to field dress a middle toe now, but I’d rather not know that and still have ten toes and none of them rotting. Instead I have nine good toes and one rotting one and it’s not fun. I walked fifteen thousand steps today, by the way.
Yeah.
On my activities so far today
I got up a bit earlier than usual because I needed to have a blood draw this morning and since it had to be fasting I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. I have the veins of a heroin addict; generally whenever I need to have blood drawn for any reason it will take multiple nurses and multiple sticks with the needle in various places before it works, regardless of the experience or talent level of the nurses involved. When I was hospitalized the second time in October I actually lost track of how many people it took before someone successfully got an IV in me; my record at the local phlebotomy joint is six sticks and three nurses.
In between sticks two and three this morning, I passed out. Second time that has happened, and I don’t recommend it. The nurses get real bossy when it happens, for starters, hollering about sitting up and keeping your eyes open and uncrossing your feet and breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth and all sorts of it would be inconvenient if you died here sorts of things. Just let me sleep! I wanna sleeeeep. But I did not die, and the third stick– in the back of my hand, where I’m going to start insisting they start— finally actually successfully drew blood.
True fact: I am legally unable to donate blood, due to a false positive hepatitis B test in college. I do not and have never had hepatitis, but apparently once you have even a false positive they blacklist you. Which is fine, because given my issues with getting blood out of my veins donating blood is not a method of charity I’m going to be partial to anyway, but it’s nice to have an actual excuse other than “I have no veins, and my arms are made of jelly.”
At any rate, I’m hoping the rest of the day improves.
Challenge met!
Did my typical pre-post GIS for “scrambled eggs” and that image came up. Can you tell those are supposed to be scrambled eggs? Because I’m not sure I can.
You may recall the Baked Egg Challenge, where my son was forced by his doctor to eat cupcakes in steadily increasing amounts until she became convinced that the eggs contained within the cupcake mix were not going to cause him anaphylaxis or death. At the time I thought it would be six months until the Scrambled Egg Challenge; it turned out to be just over a year. We were at the doctor’s from 8:00 AM until after one, feeding the boy steadily increasing amounts of premade, reheated scrambled eggs, which sounds kinda gross to me but he wolfed them down.
It turns out that eggs will not kill him. We were cautioned to avoid things with runny yolks for a bit longer, but it ain’t difficult to avoid fried eggs and I’ll be damned if I’m poaching him anything so we ought to be okay.
In other news, the cat yanked me out of a sound sleep at 2:30 in the morning by puking on my bed, and it’s been close to a week since I had more than three hours or so of sleep at a time, because I absolutely can not get a full night’s sleep in December apparently. So I was a zombie through the entire Challenge and I’m not much better now.
End of year book saleswanking tomorrow. I will try and get one more post up today and actually be a little bit entertaining.
In which I’m in the hospital again
Do not panic! It’s not for me this time! Honestly, though, I’d rather it was, as my last couple of ER visits were for not especially big deals as hospital visits go. My mother is having her hip replaced, converting her even further to a cybernetic organism, because she already has a replacement knee, artificial corneas, and I think maybe something in her lower back as well. I have to admit; if it weren’t for the years of pain that led to each of the surgeries, I’d almost be jealous. I wanna be a robot too!
Then again, all I really have to do is wait. I have indisputably inherited my mother’s knees; I stood up yesterday from my recliner and the crumpling-paper noise from both of my knees was so loud that my wife heard it. It didn’t really hurt, precisely, but the holy shit what was that reaction was so horrifying I almost wish it was pain.
What will be painful: they’ve got CNN on in this damn waiting room, and they keep going back to that poor kid getting her ass beat by that cop in South Carolina the other day. Having to watch/hear the footage is rage-inducing enough; I swear to God if I have to listen to some fucking Hoosier conversation about it I’m gonna go to jail today, and it’s good that we’re already at the hospital.
Mom’s gonna be fine, by the way, but good vibes are appreciated anyway. More later.
EDIT: She’s out of surgery already, which is ridiculous. The doc said she had a lot of arthritis in that hip but everything went fine. She’s in recovery now and we’ll get to see her in a couple of hours. There’s still the standard post-surgical suite of potential complications to worry about but the surgery itself went as well as it possibly could have.
In which that went well
So the boy has passed the Baked Egg Challenge, with nary a swelling nor a rash anywhere in sight. He got three cupcakes, doled out in increasing doses, spread out over about a three hour period.
The doctor has now told us that we are to make sure our son ingests approximately a quarter of a cup of baked egg product a day for the next six months, at which point we move on to the Adjectiveless Egg Challenge, which I suspect he will be less enthusiastic about.
What this means is that my son has quite literally been put on a cupcake diet by his doctor. For six months.
I’m not sure how to feel about that.
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