I am still dealing with my partial deep vein thrombosis. In my last post dated October 1st, Be Careful Around Sharp Objects, I talked about discovering that my INR (prothrombin clotting and international normal ratio) was at 5.9 and I was to stay off the Warfarin for 2 days and retest on Friday, October 3rd. I did the retest and my level was still at 5.9. My doctor had me to continue to stay off Warfarin through the weekend and retest on Monday. Monday my level was 4.3 (still too high). On Wednesday my level had gone down to 3.7 and my doctor’s MA phoned and said I was to start up again but at 4 mg.
As I have said many many times, you need to listen to your intuition. Your gut does not lie. After doing some research I learned that my antifungal medication could have an affect with the Warfarin causing my blood to be too thin. I could not stop the antifungal without risk of a recurring infection. I phoned my doctor’s office again and asked to speak with the doctor. I explained my sensitivities to medication and what I had learned about the antifungal medications. She agreed to have me take 2.5 (half of my 5 mg) tablet for a week and then retest. I had my blood drawn this past Tuesday because I was meeting with the hematologist for the first time. My husband needed my car on Tuesday so I opted to drive the truck. I got to the doctor’s office only to find that I had my necessary paperwork, a steno pad for notes, but not my Kindle (it was in my car). Following are the notes I wrote while waiting to meet my new doctor, the hematologist.
The first thing I notice about the waiting room is that it is quiet, there is no carpet, and only a few others are in the waiting room along with me. Then I see the sign on the counter. It says something about being patient because the wait could be an hour. I can watch old reruns of Bonanza or I can sit and try and pass the time writing in my steno pad. Maybe I will start my blog post that I had planned to do a few days ago. My doctor is a Medical Oncologist and Hematologist so there is a lot of serious treatment going on in this office. A woman in a wheelchair has just been pushed into the waiting room. And of course the first thing I notice is the can of Diet Dr. Pepper in her hand! I am containing myself. All I want to do is run up to her and shout out how dangerous this is for anyone and particularly someone with health issues. Of course, I am sure this won’t go over well. I can just see her face as she looks at this woman hiding behind the mask telling her what she should or should not be drinking.
The time seems to be dragging on. I work on this blog draft and I work on a short story. Anything to keep my mind occupied and off the reruns and what the hematologist is going to say about my leg and all the labs that have had me scared to death ever since I first learned that I have two mutations that can cause blood clots as well as a possible Protein S deficiency (although a test years ago said I didn’t have it).
Finally, the MA comes to get me. I am led to the back and all my vitals are taken. My blood pressure is 143/80. This is high for me. Is it because it is late in the day? Is it the stress of meeting this new doctor and not only having to discuss my current problem but filling her in on all my past history? Is it the Warfarin?Then I am asked to stand against a wall while she takes a picture of me. Smile she says and I laugh to myself. Who would know if I was smiling or not behind the mask? I am then led to a room to go over the paperwork I had filled out and the list of my many allergies and sensitivities. Okay…she wants me to go over each medication I have placed on the list and tell her what kind of reaction I get from it because she has to list all this in the EMR. We are going to be here all day just doing this. Finally she says can you tell me which are the most severe. Taking the paper and pen I begin putting an “S” by those that have caused the most severe reactions. As I do so I say things like “this one sent me to the ER”, “this one caused photosensitivity”, this one sent me to the ER” , etc. until I am finished with the list. The MA tells me the doctor will be in shortly to talk with me. By now I have been in the office about 45 minutes, something I am not accustomed to since Dr. Spitzer and Dr. Butler see me as their first patient.
The light in this room is so very bright! I can hear the clock on the wall tick tick ticking the seconds and minutes away. Between the light and the ticking of the clock I can feel my body being overstimulated! Should I turn off the light? I desperately want to drag a chair over to the door, step up on the cushion and yank the clock from the wall. Oh how I wish I had my Kindle. I could distract my mind from the clock if I could only just sit and read. My eyes look around the room in hopes of finding something to distract me. There it is. Sitting at the sink is a bottle of antibacterial soap. Oh, please don’t let the doctor come in and decide to use the soap. Is it possible I can stop her first? I can hear chatter outside my room. There is so much going on that my poor brain is in overload and I feel exhausted just from the noise and light. I am so thirsty! I don’t dare drink anything because I cannot risk having to go to the bathroom. I really want to be here and see this amazing doctor yet my body is yearning for quiet and dark.
The doctor comes in (continued in Part 2).
I apologize if my thoughts are scattered and this seems to ramble on.