Kathy Rohloff:
Doctor Orders a Change

Over the last month Russ has seen too much of his doctor. We have a great doctor whom we love to see out and about town, but once a week is too much.

What was a routine flare-up of gout turned into a deep venous blood clot in his leg. We can only surmise that it grew because of his decreased activity due to the pain from the gout.

They found the clot on a Friday evening and we were in the E.R. around 10 p.m. to be instructed on medication use. By then, Russ had been on steroids and pain relief for two days and was feeling pretty good. In fact, the clot came as a huge surprise since he finally felt well after three weeks of discomfort.

He was in good spirits and when the attending physician asked if he had a lot of throbbing pain in his leg he replied, "No, I feel great."

"No pain?" he asked surprised. "None at all?"

"Not with all the meds I’m on."

"He’s practically radioactive," was my comment.

His vitals were taken. When the nurse saw his blood pressure reading of 160/102 she said, "That can’t be right, we’ll try again later."

"She obviously doesn’t know you. It always goes crazy when you’re stressed," I said.

"160 over 120. Hmmm ... maybe I am a little stressed. Funny, I don’t feel stressed," he commented. He then bulged his eyes out and grabbed his chest, gasping, "I wonder what they’ll do when I go into cardiac arrest?"

I would have replied but I was laughing too hard.

The nurse returned to instruct Russ on how to stick a needle into his stomach and administer his blood thinner. The doctor assured him that it was a small needle and did not remotely resemble stabbing yourself in the heart to avoid toxic poisoning. (Thank you, Nicolas Cage, for that vision.) He also said that I could do it if Russ was bothered by it.

"He’s a big boy, he can do it himself," I replied.

"I think I can do it, but I’m concerned if I can push the needle pass my abs, the muscles are so tight," he said with a grin. (This from a man who has often described his abdomen as a keg or a 12 pack.)

Three staff looked on as Russ willingly practiced with water and plunged the needle into his middle. He didn’t even flinch. Then he was passed the vial with the drugs and administered the medicine successfully. We were all dutifully impressed.

We got home close to midnight. Over the next five days, Russ endured needle shots and blood tests. Once his levels were balanced the shots were discontinued, and his last hurdle was to receive instruction on his lifestyle for the next six months.

I must say that he went in with an attitude.

"I smoke one to two cigars a week with my son-in-law and I’m not going to quit. Do you have a problem with that?" he said.

"No. Do you drink?"

"Maybe a beer or two a week with my son-in-law, is that a problem?"

"No problem."

They then proceeded to read through a list of all of his favorite vegetables including: peas, lettuce, cabbage, spinach, broccoli, cauliflower. "You can eat a portion, but don’t eat a huge plateful. And we’ll be able to monitor this because we will be checking your blood twice a week."

He was relieved.

Finally, they tackled physical activities. "You can’t skydive, play contact sports, operate a chain saw, take up rock climbing, or shave with a straight razor."

He asked, "Can I run with scissors?"

He received a blank stare from the nurse, not even a smile. Obviously, her mother never warned her about running with scissors.

So Russ is living in an altered lifestyle now. He no longer has to worry about becoming a lumberjack, a paratrooper, or mountain climber. Since he will test positive for steroids, he’s out of the running to join the Bears or the Red Sox. And finally, he’s stopped running with scissors.

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