Category: Lumpy


Seroma

I learned something this morning. A seroma is different from a hematoma in that it is filled with clear fluid rather than blood. It also differs from an absess which are filled with puss, the result of infection.

The seroma which has developed just above my incision became noticable on friday and has increased in size and discomfort since then. I just phoned the surgeon who recommends I have it drained sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m trying everything to decrease the pain. Mostly drugs at this point, despite my own anti-drug convictions and I can’t say they’re doing much good.

It f$%&@ing hurts! This is sort of a nagging nerve pain similar to what you might feel with mastitis. It burns, it aches, it jolts my arm. I want to sever it from my being.

At least I can type and convey my level of discomfort to the masses (all three or four of you on average). Thanks for being there.

Advertisements

Good Omens

There’s a bluebird perched upon the branch of our red maple. Earlier this morning, the girls began yelling downstairs, “Daddy look! Mama look outside! There’s a rainbow!” Indeed, there was a rainbow – a double rainbow. It was brilliant. I am taking these as good omens.

Even earlier this morning, I was forced to leave my warm snuggle bed to silence a loud and obnoxious phone ringing in the next room. It was Grand Traverse Heart calling to schedule a stress-echo. This comes one day following the extremely tardy test results mailed by my internist in an envelope that was torn open at the bottom and stapled shut – through the results. Oh, and the “results,” nearly cut in half, (despite symptoms) read: Holter – ok.

My cardiologist thinks otherwise, or maybe he’s just confused. Don’t get me wrong, he’s great as a heart doctor. I really like him and trust his judgement. The problem seems to be arrising from a health care system that treats patients as numbers – that fails to see us as individuals. And as a result gets into a routine that costs a lot and acts as a catch-all, rather than as a preventative or specified care.

I’ve had a stress-echo previously. It cost me $950, so I know the insurance companies are eating a lot for these “routine” tests. If it is necessary, I’ll pay it, but I need some confidence that the test has been ordered because of real concern and not just out of habit.

The same is true to some extent with pain medication. Following friday’s surgery, I was offered narcotics. I asked instead for some Motrin. It has been my experience (speaking for me, not for everyone) that the tendancy for doctors is to over-prescribe. And so, when I went home, I needed no further pain medication, just rest. If I had gone home with the drugs and had taken them according to instruction, I might not have realized the pain was very minimal. I might also have done more than my body could handle and increased the healing time of my incision.

I’m going schedule an appointment with my chiropractor – something I should have done a long, long time ago.

Surgery

I made it through the surgery and my only real discomfort was the throwing up of my weight in stomach bile.

I’m sore, but nothing horrible. Just removed the bandage. Big incision, no lumpy. Yay.

clooney.jpg
While it’s no surprize that I’ve named George Clooney my personal hero, the reasons have little to do with his magnificant sex appeal.

This is a man that has used his career in delicate balance to send a very important message to the world. Yesterday, he stood with Nobel Peace Prize recipient, Elie Wiesel, a WWII Nazi death camp survivor and peace activist, to address the U.N. and to talk with the media about the crisis in Darfur.

Clooney warned the United Nations body: “After September 30 you won’t need the U.N. You will simply need men with shovels and bleached white linen and headstones.” (AP article) He called the mass killings genocide and reminded the U.N. that we can prevent further ethnic cleansing by sending peace keepers into the region.

Later, Wiesel solomnly stated, “Because we went through that period of suffering and humiliation we must do something so that other people should not go through any suffering and humiliation.”

In other news, I’m waiting until 7pm to eat anything. After my massage, I went to see Randy and Elisa. Elisa sent me home with a big juicey tomato (and several other peppers, tomatoes and a squash) so I could make a big sandwhich before going to bed (since after midnight last night, I’m not aloud to eat or drink). Maybe if I think of this as a hunger strike, it will be easier. Really, it’s the water I’ll miss.

Lumpy, I won’t miss. Surgery is scheduled for 4:45pm. We arrive at 2:45pm. The surgery is supposed to last half an hour and recovery time is appx 2 hours, so I should be home after 7pm.

Randy and Elisa (Scientologists) are coming over tonight or tomorrow to do an assist and they’ve given Erick one he can do before the procedure. It’s a simple locational assist… “Look at the chair… [acknowledge] look at the table… [acknowledge] look at the floor… [acknowledge]”

I went riding in the morning (so nice) and found out that Beauty has not been sold yet, so there’s a possiblity I may be able to lease her sometime soon. In the meantime, I rode a sweet-tempered, beautiful morgan mare. She looks much like I imagined Almanzo’s mares in the Little House series must have looked.

Later, Christy gave me a massage and I thought I could simply float off the table when she was finished. It occurred to me that if people began their days that way instead of with coffee, we could achieve world peace overnight.

Anyway, it’s nice to have support and the thoughts people have sent our way. Thank-you!

Surgery

Last night it seemed the only thing on my mind was friday’s surgery. In every dream, I was waiting or being prepped and just scared out of my mind. It’s not that big a deal, but I don’t like the idea of being put under. I also hate shaving and the idea of someone else shaving me is just freaky. That bothers me way more than the cutting (strange, I know).

I’ll get over this apprehension when they ask me to count backwards from 100.