And Here I Thought I Was So Good at Holding My Shit Together

This is a true story by me, Kimber. Nothing has been elaborated upon or uhm, fabricated. Because that would be lying and as I tell my kids, "Homey don't play that."

P.S. If you hate reading about blood, screaming, whining and the state of the fucking socialized medicine scene in Canada, please don't read this post. You've been warned.

P.P. S. This is a totally long post and if you actually make it to the end you deserve a cookie or maybe some wine.

The other night I was sitting upon my Pottery Barn-esque sectional sofa couch downstairs watching some MMM-MMM good TV with the kids snuggled up with me in the dark. (Digression #1, I believe we were watching Cadet Kelly with the uber-wholesome Hilary Duff, but after you read the following you may figure out that I am wrong.)

So, tra-la-la, watching TV and arguing over who has enough blankies commences until I decide that the back of my left leg is itchy and LO! I may want to idly itch it. (Digression #2 last weekend I found a wee scab on the back of said leg and assumed that it was from shaving. Digression #3, yes I shave. I have utterly no hankering to have my legs and uhm, other parts slathered in a hot substance and then ripped from my delicate skin. Although the Brazilian sounds lovely in theory, I know I'd run out of the salon crying/wailing.)

So I sat and idly scratched at le scab and suddenly heard the sound of something SQUIRTING onto my $9,785 sisal carpeting. Both of the kids jumped away from me and I, being a little slow on the uptake, realized that it wasn't a glass of frosty chocolate milk that just spilled, but my LEG spurting my precious blood ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND CARPET. No, it wasn't trickling, people.

IT. WAS. GUSHING.

I then realized that sitting upon my idly scratching hand was a PIECE of the back of my leg. Not just ANY piece, folks, but the SIDE of my vein. Yes, a lovely chunk of my LEG had just been removed by idle scratching.

So I asked very calmly for my son to run and get mummysomekleenex, please and he RAN at top speed (realizing that blood normally doesn't GUSH in such a fashion) and brought me back a wad box of Kleenex ™. I then stuffed a goodly amount onto the back of my leg and waited for it to clot.

HA!

The clotting gods were apparently peeved with me as each time I removed the tissues, the bloodbath would commence, AGAIN. People, you have NO idea the blood that was pouring out of me. CSI, come and check out my bloodstains.

So for 25 minutes I sat upon my ruined couch, sending the freaked out kids to their grandparents with the equally freaked out husbando, (he can't even get his own blood work done without almost passing out) watching Hilary run amok at her new step-dad's military school and checking the State of the Hole in My Leg. Has it stopped? Will the two sides decide to clot? Exactly how much blood have I lost? GDubba-You has never had this big of a problemo.

Then it happened, my serenity now and Buddha-ishness evaporated and I TOTALLY LOST MY SHIT. Great big wails and tears and perhaps some snot poured out of me because that's how worried I was. WHAT THE HELL HAD JUST HAPPENED? Every time I looked at my leg and saw EVEN MORE blood flowing out, I sniveled/sobbed even louder.

AGGGH!

The husband heard my wailing and crept downstairs to see what the State of the Leg was. When he saw the multitude of empty tissue boxes, an EMPTY paper towel roll and me sobbing over the blood-stained mess, he tried to take charge and call an ambulance. Yeah, right. I then realized that ONLY I could get myself together and demanded that he go upstairs and get me an Ace bandage (courtesy of the eldest child breaking his hand last year) and go warm up the car. I then crouched/hobbled/stumbled into the downstairs bathroom where I disposed of my one bloody sock, threw on some new ones and had a hearty wee.

(Digression #4, I so DID NOT want the EMT guys to arrive at my house and find me crying/bleeding and then perhaps have to disrobe in front of them because I was wearing this and THAT, my friends, would have been highly embarrassing. Really.)

(Digression #5, I was wearing my lovely new cropped yoga pants over my GAP undies, so don't be calling CPS and say that I was watching Hilary Duff in only my gotchies. Oh, and I had a very baggy top on too.)

Where was I? Oh, yes. I hobbled my ass upstairs and had the husband wrap the bandage around my leg in a very tight (read: uncomfortable) fashion. America's next Top Model I was not. Snot-filled-red-eyed-bleeding-insane-looking-homeless-person I was totally in the running for.

Got to the hospital, checked in and was greeted by a perky nurse who decided that Having A Look at my leg was probably a Bad Idea™. I was then sent to Admission and then told to Have a Seat.

(Digression #6, you would not believe the nutbars that were in the ER that night. Now I don't claim to be the Goddess of Sanity myself, but people, you should have seen the weirdoes I had to share air with that night. The husband and I entertained ourselves with coming up with a) their ailment "Heart attack?" "Typhoid?" "Swimmer's ear?" and b) their life story. This one uni-bomber-bearded man "borrowed" a wheelchair and kept surreptitiously gliding around the waiting room in it while trying to chat up the ladies. Every now and then he'd shout "That's the problem today with the Black woman and the state of her marriage!" WTF? Then this young guy comes strolling in and picks up the payphone to call the police. Apparently he just arrived home (he lived across the street from the hospital and seemed to not have a phone) and his front door WAS WIDE OPEN and man! he'd been robbed! They took his PlayStation, man!)

SIX. HOURS. LATER. My ass now formed into a plasticky/60's/non-ergonomic chair I ask (idly, I might add) for the husband to please go ask the new 16-year-old nurse on duty when I might possibly be seen. Welllllllllllllll, apparently I was NOW just 6th on the list and it would be only a matter of 3 or, uhm, possibly 4 HOURS. Gee, that's really helpful. I might have bled out on your uncomfortable chairs by now, Missy!

Uhm, hello! Brain! Wake up and walk body to admission desk and tell nubile nurse that I AM LEAVING. Sign dumb document saying that I am leaving of my own accord and promise NN that I shall call my family doc in the a.m. Get home at 3:35 AM and get into bed (with greatly help from husband) Prop up leg onto 16 pillows and pass out. Wake up 7 billion times worried that I am bleeding all over the bed. Husband turns into weird den-mother person and wakes up too, checking my leg for wetness. (Gaaah! I HATE that word. It's almost as bad as the word moist. Bleech.)

The next day: I call my doctor 1st thing and plead/beg/demand that the Hole gets seen ASAP. Secretary relents for once and tells me to comeonin. Arrive at doctor's to find a plethora of patients (im)patiently awaiting. Nurse immediately calls me in and I go to the doctor's office to sit in a squiggly bar chair (couldn't he afford a chair that doesn't spin on its own accord?)

Doc breezes into room to find me and my Leg. He unwisely decides to "just have a look" and unwinds the bandage only to have his office sprayed in my BLOOD. Like not just a little, more like cups of it. On the floor and dangerously close to my fave boots. Am now told that I must get emergency sutures to close le hole and HOPEFULLY prevent this from re-opening.

Hopefully. Har.

So let's get this over with:

The doctor and nurse hustle me into a room (whilst I bleed profusely all over the hallway) and get me to lie face down so they can patch me up. vile doctor then proceeds to stab me with a 47" needle and use a rusty fishing hook to stitch my leg up. Then they apply some sort of goo that glues this freakin' enormous rubbery bandage to my leg, re-wrap my leg in a very tight ace bandage. I'm told to look out for infection (because you know, germs could be lurking around ANY corner!) and to keep my leg elevated higher than my heart for uhm, the next ten days or so. (Thank God I used to be a Rockette!) I then hobble home and dive under my duvet where I watched waaaaaaaaaay too many Food Network shows and of course, VH-1.

I spent most of the kid's spring break either drunk hopping around/lying down/or a combo of both. The husband turned into some sort of house fraus with copious amounts of cooking, nagging, tsking over my TV choices and generally mothering me to death. We did manage to go away for a night with the kids to the exciting Niagara Falls (wheeeeeeeee!) and take them to Toronto for the day, but mostly it was playdates and getyerbumoutsideandplayinthesnow.

Naturally this week I have numerous articles to write, so the lollygagging must end and the endless interviews and tip-tappy-typing must commence. I get the stitches out on Thursday, so let's all pray that the bloodfest does not reappear, as I'd rather not miss out on Easter and the boozy meal with the in-laws.

Things to do this week:

1. Commence interviewing doctors for articles. Resist urge to blurt out Leg Drama.
2. Find one more "real" person for said articles to interview. Resist telling them about how sore leg is.
3. Clean hamster's cage as it's vile and putrid smelling.
4. Resist yelling at kids in a martyred fashion that I DON'T EVEN LIKE THE HAMSTER.
5. Buy new frock for daughter and I for Easter. Resist getting all matchy-poo.
6. Perform some sort of wifely relations with the husband to thank him for being such a star last week.
7. Continue to bleat that leg is ever-so-SORE so that I don't have to cook this week.
8. Buy Easter-y pressies for the children and a giant block of chocolate for the husband.
9. Scrub rest of bloodstains out of carpet and couch.
10. Find magical cleaner than will actually remove bloodstains.

Comments

[mrsmogul]

I hate when that happens. I can't stand the sight of blood. Didn't you hear? The newest fashion trend is the bloody look??

[*AGK*]

But...what caused it? OMG! Horrible... I read every word, thinking back to my hospital stay of 11 days back in 95. The blood...man, it never would stop! I hope you're better now...getting better?

[littlemiss]

Awww...was wondering WHAT you were doing! Poor leg...sounds rather bizarre! You must be an Industrial Scratcher, Missy.

Did you get yer parcel yet?

LMISS

[andrea]

POOR GIRL! That sounds a horrendous experience, tho' I'm sorry to say that I totally laughed out loud nearly losing my gingersnaps in the process. You are tooo funny a writer. But we need more medical info! Did you just scratch open an artery or what?? If so, who does your manicure?

[Disneygal]

Oh, good God, you crack me up! You do some wicked scratching! Yikes! And, ironically, someone just sent me a humor column that said, "They show you how detergent takes out bloodstains...I think if you have that much laundry with bloodstains on it, maybe your laundry isn't your biggest problem."

[Heather]

OH. My. Goodness.

What the heck CAUSED it?

[Me]

Sorry for the confusion, people. I forgot in my whiny/long-winded-ness to say that I've had this varicose vein on the back of my calf ever since I had my last baby. It didn't really hurt or do anything except be unsightly.
When this whole debacle ensued, there was a tiny scab on top of this vein and by gently scrtaching that scab off (unbeknownst to moi) I had essentially opened my vein.
I wasn't scratching heartily, the doc said that it could have HAPPENED AT ANY TIME. Which means, if you really think about it, that I could have woken up in a pool of my own blood in my bed which I'm sure would have killed the husband. THAT would have been scary!
It is better today, thank goodness! Thanks for the thoughts and I'm always glad to entertain you guys with my (frequent) mishaps!

[emily]

Oh my god.That is insane.Glad you're better.

[*AGK*]

*shudders* Can you just imagine? In my home, if I woke up that way, once the husband figured I was still alive, he'd probably ask to take photos, just to be sure he keeps the scene in memory for a future project :)

[miss chatelaine]

OMG, I am totally grossed out! Sorry to be so direct, but gosh, what a horrible thing to go through. And I know what you mean by waiting at the hospital. I gave up after 3 hours when I was at my local emerg a few months ago. I hope your leg heals well and that it doesn't get infected. Who knows what's flyig through the air at these hospitals?

[Me]

Ang,
Whilst your husband would ahve taken piccies, mine would have DIED> I'm so serious. We just got our annual physicals done (for life insurance apps) and he was a MESS for the bloodwork. And, AND, we actually had the nurse come here to do it. Should I ever need bloody pics done, I'll call YOUR husbando. ;-)

[Me]

Heidi-pants! Long time no hear from! So far the Leg has been pretty good. No red line up my leg (according to the mothership that is a dead-sure sign of infection) and no fever.
I can't wait to have this whole thing behind me. I can actually go back to the gym! Hurrrah!
Hope things are well with you and the girls!
Kimber, who prays that she didn't get TB while waiting at the ER.