Month: May 2016

I have been really bad the last month or so at writing in my blog.  I think about it all the time, but my life has been so dull the past little while that I don’t want to infect any potential readers with it.  If I were experiencing any swashbuckling adventures, I would be sure to inform the world.

This weekend I am back on antibiotics for the third time in six weeks.  I stabbed a dirty screwdriver into the palm of my hand, and my palm reacted by swelling up so that I couldn’t make a fist about 12 hours later.  On top of that, it is raining hard enough to keep me inside, and there isn’t even any hockey to watch as our American overlords have scheduled the Stanley Cup Final to begin on Monday.  On the bright side, hockey will be back in a couple of days, and after tomorrow afternoon it isn’t forecast to rain again for at least a week or two.  And when the hockey returns, it will be a nice intense Final between two teams who skate and score.  It shouldn’t be a snoozefest of 1-0 games and a lot of neutral zone trapping, a la New Jersey/Anaheim 2003.
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Today is my son’s 31st birthday.  It is also the 51st birthday of one of my best and oldest friends.  They were born 20 years apart almost to the minute.  Last year I went to two birthday gatherings, but this time their new ages don’t end with a zero, so it’s passing by without much fuss.  I love my son a lot, but it turns out I hardly ever say it to him.  I wasn’t brought up in a house that said it much, but I never questioned it or felt any great absence over not hearing it.  I hope he understands.

First I had pneumonia.  Well, maybe not first exactly, but recently.  Then my left elbow started swelling up.  It didn’t alarm me much, as I had wrenched some inner mechanical piece of that elbow about six months earlier while heroically trying to move a 300-or-so lb chunk of concrete.  It hurt a little from time to time, but why it chose to wait half a year to swell didn’t seem important or strange.

So my partner thought it was ugly and a ‘gross deformity,’ so naturally I kept rubbing it on her and putting it in her line of vision.  Real mature, like usual.  Oh the fun we were having!

Then today I showed it to my boss, who is a noted hard ass.  I expected him to tell me not to be a baby about it, but to my very great surprise he was alarmed.  “Have you seen a doctor about this?” he asked me. “No,” I answered sheepishly.  “Well you get out of here and get to a walk-in clinic or something.  If that gets infected you’re in big trouble.”  Poof!  That was the moment all my deformity related fun came to an end.
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My doctor is a small, somewhat pretty Russian lady, mid 40’s, heavy accent.  If you are picturing empathy or gentle nurturing, forget it.  You could get a hug and a bowl of borscht out of Vladimir Putin quicker than her. “No wonder your blood sugar is high, you are fat,” she once told me, as an example of the bedside manner one has to accept as her patient.  Today even she seemed subdued and concerned.  She told me if I get a fever, or the swelling gets worse, or I start feeling unwell in the next couple days to go straight to the hospital emergency.  I am also to eat a bumblebee sized antibiotic every 6 hours and to go back to see her in two days.  “Any time you have fluid build up like that, you can get infection.  Being diabetic, that would be very serious for you.”

I had a pretty good run going there.  I never really had any sort of health concerns until I was 47.  That’s when they decided my pancreas had pretty much given up trying to provide me with enough insulin and declared me diabetic.  Up until then I was cruising along, eating whatever and however much I felt like, and drinking beer like a minor league hockey team.  Sure I was packing a few extra pounds, but I could still walk a whole 8 hour shift and spend the weekends playing baseball and tennis.  My idea of medicine was a Bayer aspirin.  I guess all the fun was setting me up for troubles later on.  I can’t say I hadn’t heard rumours that such things could happen, but I guess I’m a bit like the smoker who gets cancer.  It won’t happen to me, even though I was amply warned.