My rotator cuff patient was on the mend and doing fairly well until he developed a blood clot in his lower calf, which radiated pain to the bottom of his foot. "Excruciating pain" was the verbiage.
So off to Minot on the 2nd, a Friday, for a sonogram to confirm the suspicions. The hospitalist put him on 325 mg Aspirin (one!) one time per day. I opted to go to work instead of going with him, which was a big mistake. Ron doesn't do information well. He hears what he wants and usually certain words bellow to the forefront. In this case it was "chest pain, difficulty breathing" but he failed to hear the words "superficial thrombophlebitis, and highly unlikely". He did not have a deep vain thrombosis (DVT) which could result in chest pain and shortness of breath. He was sure the aspirin therapy was some kind of joke, he thought he should have had more aggressive treatment than a mere aspirin!
So lucky Mare gets the weekend with someone who is sure he going to croak before sundown. I called my friend Carla, who has had three clots, she was of some comfort and help. Her last clot had traveled to her lung. She was sent home on Coumadin, which she will take it for the rest of her life. And guess what? Carla has lived to tell the story.
To make what could be a long story a little less long: he did survive the weekend, although a 30 second side pain on Sunday night was harrowing. I'm sure he would have liked the ambulance on standby - at the foot of the driveway - but knew I'd never go along with that.
So here we are today, the 12th of January, with already our 50th blizzard and/or snowstorm, (had a short one last night) or so it seems, just under our belts. Ron and I were determined to get to his appointment, which was cancelled on Friday (you guessed it - snowstorm) for the shoulder and clot. Carsten was snowed in at his friend's house 25 miles out in the sticks so I was the designated snow blower, the one to get us out of the driveway. A one armed man and a shovel, bad combo. As I am getting the snow blower going...
When what to my wondering ears should appear?
Ron has fallen down the basement steps (we have an outside stairwell in the garage that goes into the furnace room) letting out a sickening, gasping, groan. His arm in a sling and he is in a heap at the bottom of the cement stairwell. The steps had become ice covered from a thaw the day before, before the quicky blizzard. I shudder when I think of his crash, the hard ice and nothing to stop him but the wall.
He didn't want the ambulance, just me, an old EMT to get him up. The damaged sites: the elbow (the sling helped protect it) and flank. "I think I busted a few slats," he whispers in a breathy monotone.
After some assessing we went to his appointment with the orthopod. How handy after a glancing blow to the ribcage. So in we go, me marching and he hobbling. They did take a picture of the chest to look for any busted slats, to cop a phrase from the injured party. He didn't see any breakage, but said he could have a crack. His pain is awful - let's use excruciating again. In fact, on the way home he said this is worse than the shoulder ever was, and I would never make through this kind of pain. I, who carries on over a hangnail. Time to reflect: childbirth X4!
The last dazzler for the day was when I took the script down to the pharmacy - mind you back in Velva - and Dr. Scott had made it for Darvocet, which he is allergic to. So Ron had to wait for Scott's practitioner to get into the office, to order another pain med - for the slat. Finally, at 3:30 pm, Ron was able take pain meds and rest. I, on the other hand, went back to snow blowing.
