That's probably a normal thing for some people, certainly for the nurses, but as I have never been stabbed in the stomach before, I felt that this was absolutely not a normal situation.
As much as we'd all like to believe that medicine is a highly refined, scientific process that can be depended on to yield the same results every time, it's just not. Doctors trained in the same place, working in the same group can hold wildly differing opinions about how to deal with the same problem.
I went toe-to-toe with atrial fibrillation for several months in 2011 and ended up on Amiodarone, an anti-arrhythmic that has kept me in a normal rhythm since. But that won't last forever - HCM eventually finds a way around it, which is how many HCMers end up with an implanted pacemaker or defibrillator. Because the medication can cause blood clots (previously referred to as Brain Clots of Death (tm)), I must also take a particular brand-name blood thinner called Pradaxa, created from the teeth of leprechauns and the blood of unicorns, laced with the finest threads of dwarfish gold and silver guarded by an angry dragon (this is seriously a more plausible explanation for the cost of the medication that the one given to me by the research department crony at Boehringer Ingelheim pharmaceutical, three time winners of my "Best Performance in Preying on the Sick and Old" award). But I can't take it while I'm here because it takes 48+ hours to flush from my system, and that's too long to wait when there's a viable organ that could go to the next person on the list who's ready now.
The problem with blood-thinners is that when I'm in the hospital, and therefore more likely to receive a heart than at home, blood thinners are not my friend. We have to walk a fine line between avoiding the Brain Clot of Death (tm) and getting passed over for a new organ because of too much blood thinner in my system.
Not surprisingly, all five of the docs in my cardiology group have a different philosophy about this. One gives no blood thinner, assuming (correctly, probably) that I am active enough when I'm here that I'm unlikely to form a Brain Clot of Death (tm). Why, between typing this I've been exercising my reflexes and agility through a rigorous workout regimen involving jumping jacks, short runs around the unit, and I don't mind telling you, a pretty sophisticated gymnastics routine I've been working up. Okay, actually I almost knocked over my urinal and caught it before it fell over and spilled. And I also played a Batman game last night for a few hours. Blood clots are terrified of me.
Two of the other docs believe in a Heparin drip that keeps my blood nice and silky the whole time I'm here. When asked why, their response also has to do with unicorns and fairy dust and such and under hard scrutiny must confess that it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
The doc who admitted me Wednesday actually tried to strike a balance between the two. Instead of nothing or everything, he went with a daily shot of Levaquin, which holds you over for a period of time in case I stumble into A-fib again.
The great thing about the docs in the Penn State Cardiology group is that they LISTEN. When I explained my rather vociferous aversion to daily shots *in the stomach,* he conferred with the other docs and agreed that I am active enough to go without anything for the week (I'm convinced it was the cat-like-reflexes demonstrated in my urinal catch that swayed him). So no more shots. And I got to the bottom of the blood-thinner mystery that has nagged at me since my second visit back in February. Not a life changing victory, but I'll take it.
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