Blockages and bites instead of fireworks

No, I did not fall off the face of the planet, I had to step away from the blog for a few days due to personal challenges.
Several years before Katrina my husband was diagnosed with vascular occlusions. An occlusion is a blockage in an artery. He has one on each side of his groin area leading to his legs. I did not attend doctor visits with my husband in New Orleans. He told me the doctor recommended he stop smoking and that he go in for an ultrasound every six months.
He continued to smoke but he did go in for the ultrasound every six months, that is, until Katrina, when he stopped monitoring the disease. Subsequent research on my part regarding the link between smoking and vascular occlusions took me to the emedicine website. According to emedicine, "continued smoking has been identified as the most consistent adverse risk factor associated with progression of peripheral arterial disease." Although I don’t have the proof, I suspect my husband was given this information at the get go and continued to smoke a pack at day in the intervening years.
Both of us have been seeing a parade of doctors at Mercy Medical Clinic. Finally, one of the doctors really combed over his records and sent him for an ultrasound on the troubled areas. Five years had passed since his last check. It was discovered the disease had continued to progress. No surprise there. The intervention radiologist and the Mercy Medical doctor wanted Lee to undergo an arteriogram with dye to see the occlusions and blast them with angioplasty or stint them open. No one explained the procedure to Lee so that he understood he would be under anesthesia and undergo surgery.
He freaked and that day at the hospital he was given a Cat Scan with dye instead of the more invasive procedure. I pried Lee off of the ceiling and took him home. Subsequently, the radiologist met with Lee in his office to go over the progression of his disease and the necessity for the arteriogram. Once again I did not go with him when I should have.
He set up the arteriogram two months in the future because of his schedule, instead of in two weeks as advised by the radiologist. He cancelled one appointment and finally set another one. I had several conversations with the radiologist’s staff and was finally catching on to the horrific nature of Lee’s malady.
I made sure he was there for the arteriogram and I stayed with him every minute I could. The surgery went longer than scheduled so I knew the news would not be good. Sure enough, the radiologist told me the occlusion in his right leg was complete and the consistency of cement. He made an unscheduled cut in Lee’s left leg to approach the blockage from the opposite direction to no avail. The radiologist explained to Lee in detail that he had to quit smoking and see a vascular surgeon. Lee wasn’t supposed to drive after the surgery for a few days, he was back in the car to buy a pack of cigarettes the next night. To his credit he did cut back on smoking a little.
Then we went in to see the vascular surgeon. Notice, now he does not go to the doctor without me. The surgeon drew pictures to illustrate the damage. He was very clear that Lee had to stop smoking or he would be dead within two years with several amputations of his limbs as the disease progressed. He would have to remove his right foot first and it would keep progressing upward and the damage in the left leg would progress along the same route. I was frantic. Lee didn’t appear to have been in the same doctor’s appointment. He didn’t hear the stuff about amputation and dying.
He must have understood some, he did cut back to three packs of cigarettes in the month between appointments with the surgeon.
When we saw the doctor last week he was even more direct and Lee finally heard the part about amputation. I still don’t think he has heard the part about death. That seems to be my particular burden I am carrying around.
This week Lee is at a family reunion in Holland, Michigan. He left on Thursday morning. He took my car because he is not allowed to smoke in it. He thought taking my car would help him quit smoking. Ha! True, he hasn’t smoked in my car. He has just made frequent stops so he can get out of the car and light up. He also mentioned in one phone call he is suffering from the stress of information overload when dealing with all of his cousins he hasn’t seen in years. This requires he step away and have a cigarette to sort out all the information.
I am at the point when he returns I will be locking him in a room until he gives up smoking for good. I know we will all die but I want him around as long as possible and I am not looking forward to learning how to live with multiple amputations.
As if this were not enough on the stress-o-meter. I was getting into bed a little after 10 p.m. on Friday night when my dog Harry comes barreling in through the doggie door. He is jumping around from bed to sofa not using his back left leg. I cornered him to look at the leg more closely. I pulled on it squeezed here and there and didn’t see what was bothering him. He laid down for ten or 15 minutes before I checked it again.
His leg was now swollen and it was obvious he had a bite. I called his vet, Waggin Wheel. The recorded message told me after 10 p.m. to call the emergency clinic in Maumelle. I did. The receptionist gave me the number of a clinic in Hot Springs, much closer, and the nature of the emergency needed prompt attention. I called Countryside and the weekend phone service refused to pass on my information because my dog wasn’t a regular patient at Countryside. I called Maumelle back and was told to drive quickly to Maumelle. I had never been to Maumelle before. The trip in the dead of night with an ailing 105 pound Golden Retriever was nearly enough to drive me right over the edge of sanity.
I called my husband as I pulled out onto DeSoto Boulevard to let him know what was going on. Of course, his phone was turned off. I called him again when we reached the vet. The vet was very nice and said Harry had been bit by a small pit viper. A snake, probably a rattlesnake or copperhead. He was pumped full of steroids and Benedryl and given a prescription for mega antibiotics.
When we got back home at 2 a.m. I called my husband’s number one last time to let him know Harry was okay.
By Saturday morning Harry was able to put a little weight on his leg. His leg was still swollen but not to the extent it was. Thank God Harry is a very tall, very big Golden, otherwise the snake bite might have been his end.
He has to take seven pills, twice a day. I put the pills in my soft Laughing Cow cheese and he wolfs them down just like any treat. Yesterday, he was feeling even better. We walked up and down our street twice. He still wasn’t up to running around and he is much more cautious about our own backyard. Today, he is warming my feet as I write this tale. The swelling has gone down a little more. Harry is the perfect patient. He has done what the doctor ordered and will breeze through his harrowing experience. My other patient is due home from Michigan in a few days. I expect I will have to fumigate my car and take away his keys.