"It isn't DVT," he said. "Well, there could be a clot, but we can't see it. It's hard to see in the calf. And it could be superficial. But that won't kill ya," he chuckled. "That won't go to the lung," he clarifiied.
I thought he was a helicopter nurse, he was that slim. Short too. Just right fora flight nurse.
Nope, he was the ER resident. Bright blue eyes, long dark lashes, and a quick smile. He was talking about the results of her ultrasound. They didn't see a clot, though she had all the symptoms.
The attending came in to affirm. He asked the same questions, "I know," he laughed. We ask the same questions 3 times." (Yeah: nurse, resident, and attending.) "Any history of clots? Any cancer? Any surgery? Do you sit for long periods?" All the while he was tinkering with the phone cord.
"What the heck is he doing with the phone?" I wondered.
He wrapped the phone cord around her right calf, measuring the distance from her patella with his fist. He repeated on the left. "Yup, it's definitely bigger," he muttered. Gosh, I could tell that just by looking.
Blurted out, "I make my nursing students carry measuring tapes," and was instantly embarrassed.
She called me in the morning, said she had a question. I went over. She showed me her legs. It looked like lymphedema, the left was so much bigger than the right. "And I have this feeling, like the end of a Charley Horse, you know?" she told me. "I keep rubbing it."
"Don't. Don't rub it. I'm taking you to the hospital."
It was an hour over. Three there. An hour back, well two. We stopped to eat and to look at an old graveyard. Stones from 1786. I had a lobster roll, she had a vegie panini. I drank lukewarm decaf. It was 3:30; long since our broccoli breakfast quiche. The cemetery had slate and marble stones; Longfellows and who all. Engraved with urns and weeping willows. Mostly early 1800s. Peaceful and shady spot.
"It's not cellulitis. Not CHF. We don't really know. If the swelling continues, come back. If it gets worse, come back right away. If the pain gets worse, come back right away." Her Homan's was negative. Her ache was a 2.
I dropped her off and stopped to visit an old friend. He's going through a rough time. Hell, really. We talked for 2 hours. It got late and I hate to drive in the dark, so off I went.
Not DVT.
Came home and picked peas in the gloaming.
I thought he was a helicopter nurse, he was that slim. Short too. Just right fora flight nurse.
Nope, he was the ER resident. Bright blue eyes, long dark lashes, and a quick smile. He was talking about the results of her ultrasound. They didn't see a clot, though she had all the symptoms.
The attending came in to affirm. He asked the same questions, "I know," he laughed. We ask the same questions 3 times." (Yeah: nurse, resident, and attending.) "Any history of clots? Any cancer? Any surgery? Do you sit for long periods?" All the while he was tinkering with the phone cord.
"What the heck is he doing with the phone?" I wondered.
He wrapped the phone cord around her right calf, measuring the distance from her patella with his fist. He repeated on the left. "Yup, it's definitely bigger," he muttered. Gosh, I could tell that just by looking.
Blurted out, "I make my nursing students carry measuring tapes," and was instantly embarrassed.
She called me in the morning, said she had a question. I went over. She showed me her legs. It looked like lymphedema, the left was so much bigger than the right. "And I have this feeling, like the end of a Charley Horse, you know?" she told me. "I keep rubbing it."
"Don't. Don't rub it. I'm taking you to the hospital."
It was an hour over. Three there. An hour back, well two. We stopped to eat and to look at an old graveyard. Stones from 1786. I had a lobster roll, she had a vegie panini. I drank lukewarm decaf. It was 3:30; long since our broccoli breakfast quiche. The cemetery had slate and marble stones; Longfellows and who all. Engraved with urns and weeping willows. Mostly early 1800s. Peaceful and shady spot.
"It's not cellulitis. Not CHF. We don't really know. If the swelling continues, come back. If it gets worse, come back right away. If the pain gets worse, come back right away." Her Homan's was negative. Her ache was a 2.
I dropped her off and stopped to visit an old friend. He's going through a rough time. Hell, really. We talked for 2 hours. It got late and I hate to drive in the dark, so off I went.
Not DVT.
Came home and picked peas in the gloaming.
