It’s not just about my mom’s passing a few weeks ago, or my wife’s ongoing (and so far, successful!) battle with Stage 4 cancer. There’s also… me. And you might say, in at least one area, appearances aren’t deceiving!
I’m not going to show you the picture of my missing front tooth, a long-term result of a kid in a car that backed out of his driveway without looking, near the top of Jefferson, over 25 years ago. Broke the tooth in half, which a dentist put back together but warned the tooth might later die from the trauma. About 12 years later, it did, and I got a root canal. Things held up for another 10 years or so until the top (replaced) part of the tooth began to lose integrity as the post began eroding the remnants of real tooth it was cemented into. A couple temporary repairs to keep it in place until finally it got so loose it was about to completely fail, so a month or so ago I saw the implant specialist who removed what was left and now… now I wait until sometime in November when the bone that teeth embed into will be strong enough again to install an implant into. So there’s that.
And last week it was time to start dealing seriously with the serious itching and occasional night sweats I’ve been getting, both of which can be signs of my bone marrow disease (essential thrombocythemia) progressing, or a side effect of the drug I take for it (hydroxyurea) or just one of those things that happens as you get older. That’s what’s so fun about this particular disease; the disease symptoms, the side effects of the drugs taken for it, and the stuff that you deal with just from getting older… they all mimic each other. Who knows what comes from which? So more blood tests (requested by me), including a couple where anomalies are associated with progression. Thankfully, those particular tests didn’t show anything scary, but a subsequent conversation with my hemotologist/oncologist is resulting in a reduction in my hydroxyurea dosing, which might help not only to reduce the itching but also allow my red blood cell count to get closer to normal.
Blood tests. For decades of my life, I avoided doctor visits largely due to my fear of blood draws and needles in general. Coming down with a disease that required, at first, weekly blood draws, then monthly, and finally quarterly, seemed like punishment for something terrible I’d one in a past life. I had to learn how to disssociate to get through those first few blood draws and I remember, for one of them, I sat down afterwards and thought hey, not so bad, I got through it in one piece! And then, five minutes later, I’m still in that same chair, wondering where I was and how I got there. But after awhile I found I could actually embrace and look forward to the bloodwork, thinking of it as providing “actionable data” and becoming the framework of a collaborative relationship between myself and my hemo/oncologist. Strangely enough, my fear of blood tests turned my thinking inside-out, such that my concern was that too much time between them might break the spell that allowed me to tolerate them so well.
Until last Friday. What happened? I don’t know, but for the first time in 8 years I was back to my old tricks, literally collapsing my veins (words I’d heard many times in the long distant past) and causing multiple stabs and lots of time to fill three small vials of blood. It was a day I’d feared might happen for a very long time, and it’s going to be tough looking forward to my next test in early November. What happened. Well, I had broken with routine for one. I didn’t load myself full of water, orange juice and coffee ahead of time, so I was likely mildly dehydrated. I was also a bit out of sorts because my wife’s Friday routine, where she’d be going in for her immunology and chemo infusion, was pushed back a week because she came down with Covid.
None of which has anything to do with the photos above. The short story is, when it rains, it pours.
Today I had an appointment with my regular GP for a yearly physical, or whatever they call it. And that meant dealing with my other medical demon, blood pressure and white coat syndrome. White coat syndrome being my ability to spike my blood pressure when nervous at a doctor’s office. And after Friday’s bloodwork issue, it was entirely possible I’d have some real issues with blood pressure, and a “fail” at that would be costly. Beyond the likelihood of requiring different, stronger blood pressure meds with nasty side effects, it would also put off my long-awaited redo of the extensive testing I need to figure out why my lungs fail me when climbing.
So the past two days I was taking my blood pressure at home, learning how to relax instead of tensing up as the blood pressure cuff tightens, as well as positioning my arm at the same level as my heart (too low an arm position results in a higher reading)… and feel for that gradually-diminishing pulsing as the air comes out of the cuff, knowing that the longer it goes on, the better your reading. And this morning I didn’t drink much, knowing that mild dehydration also gets a lower reading (the exact opposite of what I’d do prior to having blood drawn). And no coffee!!! I sat in the chair at the office and the first thing I noticed was that the setup was going to have my arm at exactly the right level. I allowed that to set the tone, stayed calm, and… 130/71. No re-test needed. Yay!
The pictures? On the left you have the doctor’s office, and the right? The barista is making me a high-octane triple-shot caramel macchiato to celebrate after the visit. Probably kicked my blood pressure up 10 points, but dang it was good!
