Well, it’s been ages since I last wrote anything, and not just on this blog (although it has been fucking ages for the blog). That’s partly because I was busy on my 14-day trial for learning Japanese, partly just me being lazy. Writing started becoming a bit of a chore once I went back to work and was having to deal with an idiot of a project manager for 7 hours a day.
But now I’ve actually got no excuses with regards to work. I won’t be going back to work for some time, I think, and when I do, I’ve got a feeling I’ll be on “light” duties.
No, I haven’t resigned. And no, I haven’t been sacked (whoever shouted that from the back of the room!). I’ve actually been diagnosed with a blood clot in my left leg. If you’ve got the time, there’s a long story behind this… let’s go back to the beginning of how this all started.
One of many Dublin Bars
Weirdly, I don’t think I’ve been feeling 100% since I came back from Dublin way back at the start of December. I wouldn’t say everything stemmed from that. Nothing of the sort. In fact, I probably got more exercise on that trip, walking between pubs and walking around the city than I’ve got in ages.
But over that weekend, I think I finally smoked myself out. I took two packets of 20 camel lights over, and I smoked them at almost every opportunity. In fact, I ran out on the Sunday morning.
By the time I got home on the Sunday, I don’t think I have had a single moment where I felt like I fancied a cigarette. Which is brilliant, in it’s own way. The fact that I don’t see myself ever having another cigarette is great. A shame it’s taken me “smoking myself out” as it were to get to that stage; it’s probably not the best thing, but what can you do? Stopping smoking generally involves some form of willpower, which, in most circumstances, I’m not overly blessed with.
Anyway, having smoked myself out, I seemingly picked up a cold and chest infection, which took bloody ages to shake off. And when I say ages, I mean weeks. I felt ill over Christmas & New Year, which put a distinct downer on celebrations. I barely drunk anything, even though I had two and a half crates of wine sat underneath the kitchen counter. I really couldn’t face the prospect of drinking, plus I really wanted to enjoy the wine I had there, not to just drink it. So I didn’t touch any.
Eventually, in the new year, I went to see the doctor, as I’d coughed enough that when I was stood over a bowl of steaming water and I coughed up some phlegm, there was a spot of blood there. Only a tiny spot, but it scared me enough that I don’t think I coughed anything else up just in case there was more blood (stupid idea I know, but like most blokes, out of sight is out of mind). When I went to the doctor, I got some antibiotics (which a mate seemed quite peeved about, as his doctor had refused to give him any!). Those antibiotics finally did the trick; I was also referred for a chest x-ray. I’d never had a chest x-ray (or any type of x-ray) before, because I’ve never broken anything. The x-ray was a bit odd – I didn’t even have to take off my t-shirt! I was able to just walk in to the local hospital and get the x-ray done, although it did take me a bit of time to find the right place.
Having had the x-ray I kind of forgot all about it, and headed in to work – didn’t give it a second thought. I felt ok-ish after that; although not brilliant (I had the odd bout of panic attacks in work, which happens from time to time and I’ve learned to disguise them pretty well, although if people know me well, they might see that I’ve suddenly become a little less talkative than usual).
In the week or so after I having had the x-ray, I started feeling lumps in my throat, along with my throat feeling a bit scratchy. So I went back to the doctor earlier than I was planning to – and I felt slightly dismissed. Apparently, I had swollen lymph glands, which is really common and I kind of felt that the doctor wanted me out the door. While I was there though, she mentioned something that they’d found on the x-ray; something slightly “bulky” to the left side of my heart. Probably nothing for me to worry about, but I should probably keep my scheduled appointment later in the week to discuss the results.
Now, I’m never one for waiting for news (particularly medical news). Most of the time, the anticipation is worse than the news that’s likely to be delivered. It’s also a driver for my panic attacks to kick in again. So it’s fair to say over the next few days between doctor’s appointments, I felt lots of strange twinges in my chest that I was convinced were related to whatever this thing around my heart was, but were far more likely to be muscle strains from me propping myself up on one side or the other.
When I eventually went back to the doctor, he explained that this thing that had been identified on the x-ray was probably nothing – that it could have been that I was turned at a slight angle when it was taken. As they didn’t have anything to compare against, he suggested that I wait for a couple of weeks, and they’d do another one, then have a look at that and go from there.
The same day I talked about the x-ray results, I had a pain behind my left knee, on the inside of my leg. It made it slightly awkward to walk on, and so I was limping about a bit, to the amusement of one or two people from work (who shall remain nameless, so that they don’t feel guilty that they were mocking someone with a genuine injury). I went to Bristol that weekend, for the start of the 6 nations, and although it was a bit uncomfortable, I managed to walk from the train station to the pub ok (if a bit slowly).
After that weekend, I picked up another cough, so I thought the best thing to do would be to delay the chest x-ray slightly, so that the cough had cleared up – I didn’t want another thing on there that could be mistaken for something else.
I was planning to go back and have the chest x-ray at the end of this week, or early next week, but things have all been overtaken by where I am now.
When I woke up on friday morning, I didn’t feel great. I hadn’t got a huge amount of sleep. My left leg had been aching again, and I’d woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. But I got up, stuck my jeans on and hobbled down the stairs from the top floor (the leg was feeling a little dodgy, but nothing too bad).
I jumped in the car, and I’ll be honest – changing gear started to become a little bit painful. I tried to avoid changing gear if it was at all possible. When I got to work, I got to my desk – ironically my desk is about the furthest you could possibly walk to a desk in that building, logged in and immediately realised I was not going to be able to work. My leg was hurting, it was uncomfortable even to sit down. I typed up a short email to my line manager, and my PMs (including the one who’s been annoying me so much the last week or two), saying that I was going straight to the doctor to have my leg looked at, because I was in a lot of pain. I did manage to get what I thought was an excellent “fuck you” to the annoying PM into that email though, something along the lines of “Needless to say that means I won’t be updating your tracker” (referring to this document that has become the be-all and end-all of the project, and should be his job to update). It was a crumb of comfort at least, in amongst the increasingly painful situation with my leg.
This was a week after first diagnosis… can’t get my jeans leg over my calf any more
I immediately called the doctor’s office and got an emergency appointment. As I was in Cardiff, and it was already 9.30, I wasn’t going to be able to make a 9.55 appointment, but I said I’d get there as soon as I could. I ended up having to wait a while in the holding room, but eventually I hobbled in to see Dr C (who I’m not sure I’ve seen before). I mentioned that I’d felt that my calf was now really tight, because my jeans were pulled tight around my calf – and I had no idea how bad it had got. So I whipped off the jeans, and at that point I realised how swollen it had got. Quite honestly, it was fucking massive. And rock hard too, although not painful, weirdly. I gave the doc a bit of history about the pain behind my knee, etc. and after a quick check on my balls (which was a little unexpected, I’ll be honest!), she decided the best thing was to get straight down to the local hospital for the DVT clinic, to look for a blood clot.
I managed to drive to my parent’s house, but that was me done for driving because changing gear was getting really painful. The doctor called me there, and my Dad took me down to the hospital while my Mum collected my prescription of anti-inflammatories. I got to the DVT clinic, and after assessment (and measuring both my calves and thighs to see quite what the disparity was), they arranged for me to have a doppler scan after lunch. A doppler scan, I discovered, is just an ultrasound, like they give pregnant women, and like the one I had for my stomach a couple of years ago.
What they discovered is that I did have a blood clot in my left leg (seemingly quite a large one). I went back to the DVT clinic and we started talking about treatment.
My belly after 8 days of injections
This is where it gets fun (sarcasm). I had to have an injection into my stomach, and I have to give myself two over the weekend – one of which I’ve done already. It stung a bit after I’d done it, but it seems ok now. Was easy-ish enough to do, although obviously not something I’d choose to do in the general scheme of things.
I have new-found respect for type I diabetics.
As well as that, I have to go to a clinic at the hospital every day for the next 5-10 days until they are able to thin out my blood, using a drug called warfarin (which also doubles as rat poison – who knew?). In order for the hospital to work out how much warfarin I need to take, they have to take some blood each day (woohoo!), which is never my favourite thing. Even more so when apparently, it’s quite hard to find a vein in my arm. I guess the upside of the news is that it would be very tricky for me to be an intravenous drug user (good to know!). Anyway. They took some blood on friday (looked like an armful, ho ho!), and I didn’t pass out, so that’s a good sign. I guess I’ll get used to it. Side note – I am getting used to it, although I still can’t watch the needle going in/blood coming out – I open my eyes again once the cotton wool ball is on my arm.
So now, it’s a case of go home (or back to Parent’s at least, until I’m able to get up and down stairs reasonably), and take the injections, and the anti-inflammatories until the swelling goes down. I will be on warfarin for at least 3, possibly 6 months. I also get to see a haematologist on monday (blood doctor). I’m not going to be in work at least until my blood is thinned out sufficiently that I don’t need to go to the clinic at the hospital.
So that’s life for the next few weeks/months. Funny how things get thrown at you. I am quite proud of the way I was defiant to the last with my twat of a project manager. Good to see there’s still a fighting spirit in there. In fact, I think the ache in my leg was driving me to being increasingly annoyed with the guy. He deserved what he got from me, don’t get me wrong, but my bluntness was probably related to the increasing annoyance at my leg.
This is all kind of old news to me already – I wrote this back on the 15th Feb, and wasn’t sure about posting it. But I think it’s safe to do so now, particularly now I’m not worried about my condition being life-threatening 😉 I’ve got another update to come that’s already written, but I’ll save that for a few days…
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags: Personal