It's Pro Time Today!

Yipee-ki-yay. Yep, that's right. Today, I make the every-two-week trek to my doctor's office to have my finger pricked for pro time, otherwise known as Prothrombin Time. If you're on a blood thinner (anticoagulant) like me or have ever been on one before you are all too familiar with this little drill.

As I mentioned before in a previous blog, I am on a gross amount of Coumadin. I don't even want to put it in writing how many milligrams I am on because it scares me and I feel ashamed about it for some reason (let's just say they don't make a single pill with enough milligrams in it for me). Rita, my doctor's medical assistant, who administers my pro time and whom I absolutely love and adore, assures me it's because I am (was?) healthy and ate a lot of Vitamin K (green, healthy stuff) before Coumadin; therefore, it takes more for me to thin my "healthy" blood. I half believe her and half know she's just very sweet and trying to keep me from freaking out for the the next three months of treatment (October 1st and it's over baby!).

I don't know a lot, but I do know that I am on Coumadin to thin my blood for the sole reason of preventing any more blood clots, which ultimately lessens the possibility of having another stroke. I also know that the reason why I am on such a HUGE dosage of Coumadin is because my PT/INR results will not cooperate and get up to par. My primary care (I'll call her Dr. G.S.) ideally wants me to score between a 2.8 and 3.0. For the past three months, I've been clocking in at 1.5, 2.4, 1.8, 1.7 and so on. There was a scary 4.3 thrown in there somewhere, but that's not good either because scoring higher is dangerous for bleeding reasons (I was actually told to stay away from the kitchen and knives for a couple of days, which is one of my passions -- cooking). On the flip side, scoring too low means my blood isn't as thinned as they want it, which could mean...well, I'll let you figure out the rest of that equation. Scary? I should think so. My life is in the hands of these little pink pills. I should love them, care for them, feed them, water them.... Yeah, right. I resent the little f*ckers.

Okay, so the last time I confided my Coumadin dosage, I was met with the rebuke of "You need to get off Coumadin right away -- You know it's rat poison, right?!?" I maturely reacted by putting my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, and loudly humming a song. Just finishing off that last sentence, I flashbacked to a time when my older sister used to drive me to school (7th grade) in her red, convertible mustang blaring Led Zeppelin. Embarrassed, I would scrunch down into the red leather seat and do the same thing (i.e. put my hands over my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, and loudly hum a song). As she pulled in to a rolling stop, I'd leap out and run to homeroom. As soon as she caught on to my odd little routine, the closer we came to school the louder she'd turn up the volume simultaneously throwing a big grin my way. Humiliating? Yep. Why? Because. At the time, oh my gosh...if it wasn't MC Hammer or Boys 2 Men, I was a serious target for being "strange," god forbid. In hindsight though, of course it's totally super cool to be blaring Zeppelin (I do it now).

Ah...alrighty then. Moving back to Coumadin (do we have to???). Point is, rat poison or not, I have to be on it right now, so shush your mouth. It's a Catch 22. Or is it ironic or an oxymoron: poisoning myself to live? What is that? It sucks. I have bruising on my thighs, my arms, and recently have noticed the rapid thinning of my hair. Paranoia? No. My hairstylist/colorist even commented on how thin it was yesterday (until now, she's been used to working with my very thick hair). If only it would thin me! Ha. Kidding. Wha, wha, wha; goodness me, I am quite the whiner today.

I ran six, hilly miles with Janya this morning. It was a good, exhausting run. I did notice that my left leg feels shorter than my right. Paying attention to my stride, there was definitely an unbalance somewhere. Just thought I'd document that as it was a new realization, post stroke. Perhaps a deficit perhaps not, we'll see. I'll work on it more next run. After my run, I had some coffee and started to blog. Now, I'll go take a shower and then head to Dr. G.S. and Rita. Think 2.8, 2.9, or 3.0.... Doesn't The Secret say something to the effect of if you visualize it or think it -- it will happen? 2.8, 2.8, 2.8.

UPDATE: I clocked in at 2.2 today. Oh mio my.

On a side note: My heart goes out to Nancy Cooper's family and kids.