Well, tomorrow is another milestone in the whole recovery process. Yes, tomorrow afternoon I’ll find myself laying on a table while a stranger spreads slick, slippery goo on my upper thighs.
Sounds exciting, I know, but it then involves ultrasound machines and listening to the blood rush through my arteries and hoping that they don’t find that the blood clot is still there.
If they don’t, it means that I will shortly be ending my Coumadin therapy, that insidious rat poison that makes me bruise when someone looks at me pointedly, that makes my gums and eye lids bleed, and just generally causes more consternation than the initial heart attack caused.
If the clot is still there? I have no idea. I’m trying not to think about it, because the last time I had an ultrasound, she came back into the room and told me to go to Emergency right away.
I’d better wear clean underwear. (Not that I ever wear anything other than clean underwear. I swear.)
[Make that goo-covered Monday. They cancelled my appointment and moved it to Monday afternoon instead.)
Whew… I read the title and for a second there I thought the subject matter would be much different.