...countdown to surgery!

Just a really cool wagon I found to photograph

“The best laid plans of mice and men…”  One of those things I’m always saying, has bitten me rarely squarely on the tuchas (butt). I mentioned briefly yesterday that I tore my knee. Well, I really did a number on it, apparently. One of those silly moments where nothing actually “happened”, I just turned wrong! My knee was already weak. I had gone to see Dr Quinn, Medicine Boy (I call him that because he looks really young to me for a surgeon!) about this same time last year after doing something rather similar.  At the time, he said there was a small tear in my meniscus in the back of my knee but that we could probably do some physical therapy and strengthen the muscles around it and I’d be okay for a bit.  I am thankful that it waited til winter to do this, actually.  You gotta find your gratefulness where you can!

I asked him if I’d be back to normal by the time we are supposed to do a photo shoot vacation in Monument Valley and the deserts of AZ in mid-April.  He assures me that it should be walkable and strong by then.  He did my last ortho surgery…shoulder… that time.  For such a young looking surgeon, he’s really great. When did doctors get so young?  I swear when I was Nursing and trolling for a mate, they were all old curmudgeons! My shoulder surgery was a blessing. I had an entrapped AC space and lots of bone spurs in my shoulder. He took out about half an inch of my collar bone so things wouldn’t rub anymore and I feel like I have the shoulders of a teen now! I’m hoping this is the case with my knee.

He’s a little nervous because I’m not on any HIV meds at the moment. I tried to explain that those pills to keep the virus under control really have no bearing on my ability to heal.  Quinn and I have an unusual relationship, anyway.  He really doesn’t have much of a sense of humor and it just drives me batty! Yesterday, when he was torturing me by putting my knee in angles that knees weren’t meant to assume in the first place, I was trying to joke between my sobbing in pain. I actually did make him crack a smile a time or two. Hey, doctors, it’s okay to appear human to your patients!!

Going in for procedures is always weird when you have AIDS.  I worry a lot about someone accidently sticking themselves. I still hear from the RN who accidently stuck me with that HIV infected needle.  The poor woman still can’t forgive herself, almost 21 years later, although I did when it happened. Every time she contacts me, I spend a lot of time assuring her that it was not her fault, it was the hospital’s for where they had the needle boxes located.  Sometimes, I think I stay alive, just for her.

The weirdness comes because there are two kinds of medical professionals when it comes to dealing with HIV.  Some are so worried that they are going to show fear around my body fluids that they endanger themselves in their attempts to “act nonchalant” about being so close to an incurable disease. I have to chastise them to put on gloves and am constantly pushing heads away from needle sites (you never know when something’s gonna squirt in the eye).  I really appreciate them trying to make me feel normal but hey, I AM a diseased pariah that can change your life forever.

The other sort never came out of the dark ages.  I’m an empath, there I said it… I am very, very sensitive to other people’s feeling..good or bad.  They come at me in waves and sometimes colors and shapes emanate from people. I used to think I was crazy until I found other empaths to talk to.  Anyway, that’s another story.  These dark age medical professionals of which I speak just ooze contempt and loathing when they see me.  There was a nurse at our local hospital like that. I had gone in for a very serious lipid based infusion that must either be done in the ER or the Cancer room because it could have caused me to have a heart attack or stroke during its administration.  All this was to get rid of a rather nasty case of thrush (yeast) in my esophagus. This nurse treated me like total garbage.  She constantly made insinuations that I must be a druggie or a whore.  She almost killed me because of her prejudice! She never even took my blood pressure before the procedure or my temp.  After the infusion and more of her ridiculous snide, demeaning remarks, she let me go with a 105 temp and blood pressure of 190/120.  I freaking drove myself home, shivering with fever. I had to call my friends Sheryl and Reba to come stay with me until everything went back down, them taking my vitals about every 15 minutes. It took over 14 hours for me to stabilize. Rob was away on a hunting trip at the time. As soon as I arrived home from the hospital, I called my infectious disease doc, who was in Casper at the time.  He says…go back in… I said, not on your freaking life.  So once again, thanks to Sheryl Sowers and Reba Foster for getting me through that nightmare! I am a nice person and will not tell you who that nurse is, as she still works there. Karma will get her ass.

You’d think in this day and age, with HIV being around for over 25 years…at least the medical profession would have their facts straight! I used to get so pissed (still do, actually) when I would run into people who said they felt sorry for me because I didn’t “deserve” AIDS.  Excuse me, who does? Why do we condemn folks who get a virus from the very act that perpetuates the human race (sex)? Do you feel any less sorry for someone with colon cancer or stomach cancer?  Do you chastise them and tell then it’s their fault because they ate badly and brought the cancer on themselves?  Of course, you don’t! But people do it with AIDS patients all the time.  They BLAME the victim. I have run into so many women over the course of my lecturing that were infected by supposed faithful husbands, it makes my head spin. Is it their fault their husbands cheated? Gah!!

Anyway, so these things run around in my head every time I have to get any major surgery. I also really have to worry about infection because, hey, I have no immune system, right? Last bloodwork check a few weeks ago, I was sitting on 72 t-cells.  (I've been down to Manny, Moe and Jack - 3, before) The normal person has around 1100 (this is what they count in a mm of blood, by the way).  So, I’m a little nervous. So is Dr Quinn, for that matter.  He even joked (he joked!) that if some miracle occurred and my knee felt better, we should call the whole thing off. One little infection post-op could mean the beginning of the end. But, I’ve been careful over the years. I don’t let docs give me antibiotics unless absolutely necessary so I can save their strength just for times like these. All of my other bloodwork is pretty excellent for a half dead chick. I am blessed with low blood pressure and low cholesterol, through no fault of my own.

Today, I’m working on arranging stuff in the great room on the main level of the house so that I can be comfortable after surgery .  Don’t think I’ll be hitting those 16 steps up to the bedrooms any time soon! Thankfully, years ago when I was really sick, Rob bought me a great recliner. It even has heat and massage! I call it my shake and bake chair.  It is my dear friend and I will be spending quite a few nights now in its comfy goodness, near the crackling woodstove. Friend Pam just gave me a whole sack of books to read, I'll be just fine...

Best laid plans of mice and men…..