Dr. PA Always Prepared!

No, I’m not all prepped for surgery.  Neither in Cuba, no less.  I’ve got a little bit of a problem for my second IV anemia infusion tomorrow.  I had a similar problem last time.  It was just a pesky virus that I’d hoped would be gone by the date, but nope.  It was gone the next day.  Nonetheless, since I was still a wee bit sick, I suggested they should mask me.

There’s a reason I need to take precautions on the floor.  I’ll get into all of that, as I found out another cause due to what my infusions involve.  So that’s why I was completely up front about them masking me in the first place.  A hint is that I’ve worked in a Hospice.  Also, my infusions take at least an hour and a half.  I’m hanging around a long time.  A lot of traffic?

What’s my problem now? I fear a lot worse than a “pesky virus.”

The Gastro Grim Reaper!

I ordered some take away and for dessert, they gave me some sort of food-borne pathogen.  Charming.  Of course I am still quite ill, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this.

“They” say “most people” recover from such lovely incidents within 12-48hrs.  Well, certainly I wouldn’t fall into “that” section of the population.  I ingested my toxic meal on Friday night.

As awful as it is when you get this sick, I do find the following scenario absolutely hilarious.  I think a lot of us have been here?

You’re sitting on the shitter (quite literally at point in time) with your stomach heaving and churning.  Then, you start to feel something creeping up…and up…and…! OH NO! Are there any other “receptacles” nearby? A bathtub? A sink? If not, SHIT! I didn’t grab a bucket (or maybe didn’t have time.)

Luckily, my bathtub is right beside my toilet.  If not, I would have repainted my entire bathroom in a latex paint that has not yet been invented.  The name of it would be: “Incandescent Vegetarian Pizza.”  All of this was going on sometime in the wee hours of “Who Knows When.”  All I know is that I woke up, thought I was giving birth to Satan’s child, and it was still dark out.

Now why do I have to (and want to!) be so completely, extra cautious when carrying some Infectious UFO in my body? The floor where I have my infusions done is, I believe, also a chemotherapy floor.  A lot of the equipment is labelled as such, and judging from some other patients I’ve seen, it seems likely.  Also, I was surprised to read about what they are shooting me up with (no it’s not someone’s iron rich blood!)

It’s called Venofer.  To try and keep the med geekiness simple, it’s a liquid form of iron and/in sucrose.  They are bound together and when in my body, the iron hits certain precursor cells.  Then they go on to do stuff–like hit cells that will go on to zone in on my hemoglobin.  But what is also interesting about Venofer is that it’s not just used for people who are only anemic.  It’s actual use is for people who are anemic due to chronic kidney disease! I don’t have CKD!

Therefore, another reason to be careful tomorrow.  Who else is on that floor receiving treatment for other conditions? So I’m going full on.  Mask and gloves.  Especially since I don’t even know what I have!

What complicates things more is I’m still dealing with the Clobazam withdrawal, some breakthrough seizures, and all of that nightmare.  So naturally, when I’m getting nailed with anything else that makes me sick, there are only certain variables I can rely upon to figure out the differences.  And most of the time, those variables are extremely minimal.

  1. Kevin

    “What’s Wrong With This Woman!” is a much better title for your post than what I came up with: “Bend Over and Cough”. Just saying.


  2. Oh Kevin. *laughing so hard*

    Hang on. Dr. PA can do you one better. Maybe? This is for men who have to give semen samples, but can’t obtain erections etc…

    “Massaging the Prostate.”

    What do you think? I’m not kidding here, either. It is a medical procedure.


  3. Kevin

    Laughing right back at you, Dr. PA. Let’s just say that I’m… not discussing this one on your blog. Call me a chicken if you will.


  4. Hi Kevin. Oh, no! I’d never call you a chicken! Unless you suddenly sprouted feathers, grew a long pointy beak, started squatting all the time, and began laying eggs.

    Sorry. I’m not awake yet, so jokes are weak at best. However, the whole chicken thing would also require a gender switch. If that didn’t happen, I’d just have to call you a Cock instead. *rolls eyes*

    Perfectly fine if you don’t wish to say anything about the medical procedure. I understand.


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