Oh, The Drama

 The past month has been trying. Yesterday we visited our primary care doctor to get the results of The Patient's latest blood draw. I may have mentioned that The Patient is .... difficult. He rarely follows directions or helpful advice. That is not going to change at this stage in his life.

Back in earlier days he broke his foot. In fact, that particular year our entire family broke something, with the exception of my youngest. And yes, she felt left out. She was very vocal about it, as well. I broke my foot for the second time; Jill broke her toe and Jeff broke a foot. It was so bad that when I called the orthopod's office his receptionist would simply inquire, "Which one of you this time."

The kids and I obeyed doctor's orders and healed our broken bones without incident. The Patient was the last one to see the doctor. I warned our doctor that The Patient would be challenging. He soon found out that was an understatement. I don't remember how many casts were applied during the 6-week healing period, but it was more than a few.

He somehow managed to break them. He would walk on his cast despite being told not to until he was ready for a boot. I still remember the look of exasperation on the doctor's face as he applied another plaster cast. This was in the 80's. When he finally healed (about 10 weeks later), the doctor requested that if he should break another bone that maybe a different ortho doc would be better suited to handle The Patient.

Fast forward to yesterday. Dr. L entered the exam room and pulled out the lab report, shaking his head. The Patient has dropped 10 lbs. and his lab results were not good. He is anemic, his bilirubin was way up and everything else was haywire. He did not know about the famous accident and that the blood was drawn AFTER the broken shoulder.

That accounts for the results. I showed him an impressive photo of the resulting bruise. His entire shoulder, neck and back were a shocking purple. He asked if I called an ambulance and wanted to know how I got him out of the ditch. That accounts for the blood loss and the blood calcium differential.

As a result, we are now stuck here for yet another month to re-check his blood panel. No travels in our immediate future. Let us all remember that I am still recovering from my hand surgery. I was as compromised as The Patient as related to having only one hand to use. If I experienced undo pain, it was usually because I used the hand too much. Usually because I was doing the dishes or preparing food to eat or folding laundry. There were some things I simply did not do, knowing that it would injure my hand. I couldn't lift Eddie into bed at night or pick up anything over 3 lbs. 

I adhered to this regimen and when I did have pain, I resorted to magnesium and ice for pain relief. I had hydrocodone left in the pill bottle but chose lucid thoughts over a narcotic haze. The Patient asked for and got more pain pills. I was shocked that he prescribed 60 pills! What a big baby. The intense pain following the injury did need narcotics, but that is over as we approach week 4 of healing.

I would make a general statement about men not being able to handle pain, but that would be wrong to identify the entire population of men as being unable to handle pain. Pain has no gender. There are just people who cannot handle pain and The Patient is their leader! 

Knowing this does not make my current situation any easier. He can't button his pants and I get that, but when I was restricted, I chose to wear clothes that were easy to get on and off. He refuses to wear elastic waist pants. He chooses pullover shirts that fit too snug. He will moan and groan while trying to yank the shirt over his fancy sling I ordered in hopes that he would not take it off in the night. This will grab the Velcro and move the sling into the wrong position. This is a very vocal process that involves telling me how excruciating the pain is. I want to smack him as I remove the snug shirt and replace it with a loose fitting one after I re-apply the sling that has so many straps and closures to deal with. 

He has been letting his hand dangle, and it is swollen with fat fingers and thumb. His hand looks like the exam gloves I used to blow up for children in The ER to distract them. He tells us it is a gout attack. I tell him it is not gout. Dr. L decides to examine the hand. He thumps the fattest finger, and The Patient says it hurts but does not react the way one would with gout. In other words, he did not scream and jerk away the way he did when I touched his hand at home. We agreed that it was not gout and was, as I had suggested, positional. I feel like I am caring for a toddler and can't escape his presence!

We all must remember that I don't know what pain is. I do, however, know when someone is being dramatic.