Won't go squidgy

WON’T GO SQUIDGY

Back again to the blood letting department this morning and my INR is reading 2.5 and if we can keep it around that number there’s a good chance I won’t be doing my jelly fish impersonation for Rita’s birthday party in 9 days time. This is good news but this warfarin is notoriously difficult to administer in the correct doses. It seems that it affected by diet, weight, hair length, the moon and the colour of your scarf. I guess it doesn’t exactly help that the meds concluded long ago that they may as well bin the rule book when dealing with yours truly because I shouldn’t actually be here. 

Most people don’t realize just how odd this status can feel. Three years ago (don’t ask me – I rely on testimony from independent witnesses due to the morphine) I was apparently taking a fairly long stroll with the Grim Reaper when for some unknown reason; I lost my cool and told him to bugger off. This is most unlike me, because I am normally very polite and civil to those who are just doing their job, so I can only assume that he must have said something pretty offensive for me to lose it with him. The result of this is that in an instant your status changes from alive, to alive, shouldn’t be. There seems to be a fairly common perception that people who have been close to death, suddenly appreciate every moment of being alive and their lives are irrevocably changed. My experience is somehow slightly different as I’ve always liked being alive because I have always known that with every passing minute, I am one minute closer to the next time I will be laughing. No, the major result of the change in status is the knowledge that you are confounding some pretty damn smart people. 

Even when I was out for my stroll with the GR I didn’t really believe that we were going to be instant buddies. I had certainly prepared mentally for a very long walk but in my heart of hearts, I think I was allowing myself a wry smile – I knew his lack of amusing banter would piss me off and I would go home leaving him to finish the journey alone. I’ve passed him in the street a few times since then but he’ll have to improve his witty repartee before we go for another walk together.

So tonight it’s back on the rat poison (which apparently no longer poisons rats because they have developed an immunity to it), and back to the numbers guessing game. 0-2 equals sludgy blood which clogs your system. 2-3 equals protection. 3-7 equals at risk of turning into a red squidgy mass. Google comes back with 269,000 pages in response to a query on “INR levels”. How come I can stick on a post-it note?