I'm more bitten than you

[Drunk Monk]

...but I recently discovered the Pom is better at playing fetch at night when it's pitch dark than in broad daylight. Poms are very strange beasts. I'm not convinced they are really dogs. I think they are some sort of space alien, cleverly disguised as dogs.

I got to say that Greg managed to deliver his portion of the DVD of our tournament, despite his injury. What LB and tg filmed is in there, along with work from Greg of course, and his sis. I received it yesterday and we had trouble playing the DVD (it downloaded today just fine so we're good to go). I texted Greg and he was all "how can I help?" I told him to get some rest.

[The Queen]

Apparently I don't have enough challenges in my life, so Maeve decided to demonstrate that she can now reach the back of the counter - not just steal stuff off the top. What did she steal? Preston's pain meds and antibiotics, and yes, she ate them all. So instead of heading to the hospital to bring Greg much needed newspaper, Doritos and an updated iPod, I spent an hour and a half at the animal ER to have them induce vomiting. She's just fine; I'm another $351 poorer.

On the bright side, I really, really liked the emergency vet. I wasn't made to wait, the staff was friendly and efficient, they kept me informed of what was happening, handled me well as I was somewhat frantic and scattered when I brought Maeve in, and the doctor explained things quickly, clearly, didn't run up the cost with unnecessary extras. So while I was there, I got an estimate from her for spaying Maeve that was HALF the cost that our regular vet quoted.

Will be seeing Greg in a couple of hours. No news on that front yet; he started a more intensive regimen of an additional, more powerful antibiotic starting last night; the doctors haven't been by to see him yet this morning. We just have to wait and see what the doctors say.

So, I'm off now to pick up replacement prescriptions for Preston and food for Greg (he says that the hospital food has occasionally been semi-edible).

[Drunk Monk]

What could you have possibly done in your past lives to warrant such karma right now?

Aren't you supposed to be traveling again next week too?

[The Queen]

Yep, I'm supposed to fly to Minneapolis on Thursday. Emailing the pet sitter to see if she can come by on Thursday, Friday and Saturday to walk the boys.

[The Queen]

FYI - finally got some good news. Per Greg, the last time the doctors came by they were happy rather than just scratching their heads and saying, hmmm, that's not good. They think the infection is starting to respond to the super-duper antibiotics. He has to stay on his present schedule of IVs for at least 48 hours, so the earliest he might be able to come home is Sunday or Monday.

[Drunk Monk]

Once the infection is under control, the healing process should be fairly quick. When I had cellulitus in my foot, I was dancing barefoot on the beaches of Jamaica only two weeks later. Nothing like antibiotics and topical steroids. Then again, my cellulitus didn't come with a gaping wound.

We were planning to stop by after D-land on Thurs and crash on your couch. If that needs to change, well, I'll keep in touch about that.

[Drunk Monk]

Three of us online at the same time - cf, tq & yours truly. Greg would be pleased if it wasn't all about CF mocking him. Left Foot of Wrath indeed. And then the Steinbeck shot. Then again, maybe he'd be pleased by that too. That's classic DOOM - kick them when they're down. It's how we show affection.

[The Queen]

More good news; Greg just called, he may be released as early as tonight!

[Drunk Monk]

Nothing like the right antibiotic cocktail to set things right. Good news indeed! Way to start the Labor Day Weekend!

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

The Vencomycin did the trick. Except for the last batch which made my hand swell up to StayPuft Marshmallow man size. The doctor's actually asked if I wanted to go home.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Of course you can visit. The Queen is abandoning her subservience to me to go haring off around the country. She claims it's her job, but I think otherwise. Regardless, slave duties are available for all and sundry. Plus, Shiva will need a new play thing to rend. I hope Tara is ready. She weighs 50 pounds you know. And all of it is in motion at all times. Maybe Tara could wear pads? Come ready. Come armed.

[Drunk Monk]

And I'm not just saying that because it works for our trip. But, while we're on the subject, the park closes at 8 on Thursday, so expect us after that - as long as it takes for us to get from the park back to the hotel parking lot and then up that mountain you call home. Will you need us to bring anything? I'm already delivering a treat from one of the other DOOMers (I may be nobody's pony, but I'm somebody's mule ;-) ).

[cranefly]

Lady Cranefly and I went to a housewarming party last night -- at the new home of Oliver, one of our kung fu brethren. He's an architect and plans to build a kung fu studio in his back yard. Very cool.

Late in the proceedings, Jeff, another kung fu brother, showed up with his hand bandaged up. Lady Cranefly asked him what happened. Well, he was at a dog park with his golden retriever, and a guy shows up with an aggressive golden retriever that attacks. Jeff got between them and was bitten. When Lady Cranefly asked if the owner was at least nice about it, Jeff snorted and said, "Not really." The owner claimed Jeff's dog had been just as responsible, and that it was Jeff's own dog that had bit him. A nasty guy, and he quickly left with his dog.

A guy then approached Jeff and said he'd witnessed the whole thing. Turns out he's a dog behavioralist or something like that. Anyway, he offered to testify if Jeff wanted to pursue the matter. Jeff declined. He just wanted the nasty owner to get out of the park with his aggressive dog.

Nothing worse than having to deal with a jerk like that when you get bitten.

Actually there is -- and that's nearly losing your foot. Hope you're continuing to improve, Greg.

--cranefly

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

Gee, thanks. I think.

[Greg_phpbb3_import1]

It never pays to draw attention to yourself from the god’s of whimsy. One sure fire way of doing this is by saying “ I wish I had something to write about” It draws the eyes of the gods faster than a magnesium flare in a warehouse.
I woke up around 12:30 Tuesday morning to some disturbance in the backyard. I didn’t have my glasses on and things look a little fuzzy without them. I opined Maeve, our Australian shephard pup, was playing with another dog. Cindi thought it was Miko, the dog from next door. That didn’t sound good.
When I was in the process of getting the new dog, I was also in the process of putting up a brand spanking new fence. Our neighbors had two dogs, both pitbulls. Miko seemed as friendly as all get out. But Ozzie was a different story. With his head bigger than mine and jaws that looked like they could break bricks, I never got a good feeling from him. When Cuchulain was alive we had a run in with both neighbor dogs, but we had all emerged unscathed. Cuchulain was very sick at the time. But I still didn’t like the general atmosphere of the four dogs growling at each other. The reason I had the neighbor dogs in the yard to be able to talk to Cuchulain and Preston was that our old fence was basically on it’s side. I spent a couple of sweaty days digging post hole and nailing up slats when I realized there was going to be a new dog in the yard.
Which was why it was odd to find Maeve racing around my back yard with the neighbor dogs. At the time I didn’t give much thought to why I had this odd appearance because well, I had a pack of dogs racing around the backyard. At this point things become a bit hazy in my recollections. Maybe Cindi has better recall of the events than I, but I remember my first thought was to get to Maeve. Then, I believe old dog Preston had waddled his way into the backyard.
Preston has been good for some time. When Cuchulain, died, I thought for sure that Preston would follow in a few weeks. His skin was bad. The steroids we’d given him to alleviate his allergies had trashed his system. He could barely walk from his arthritis. But, he refused to give in to death. And in the last week or so, he’d actually gone for a walk into the park for the first time in at least eight months.
Preston wanders into the fray. He’s none too pleased to have strange dogs in his back yard. He starts barking at Ozzie, the dog that outweighs him by 50 pounds. I try to place a plastic garden chair between Ozzie and Preston, but they just dive under the legs. I thought about picking up Preston to get him out of the way, but when I tried a similar maneuver with Cuchulain during the last incident, I only put Cuchulain in an indefensible position while Ozzie jumped at me and bit Cuchulain in my arms.
I only had a few seconds for that thought, because by then Ozzie had grabbed Preston by the back of the neck. Preston started howling. I grabbed Ozzie and Preston by the scruff’s of their necks in attempt to pull them apart. I’m screaming for Ozzie to let go. I couldn’t pull too hard because one dog had the other dog’s neck in his mouth.
Did I mention I was in the back yard without shoes? Yeah, I didn’t think I had time for the whole putting on the shoe routine. From what I know now, it will always be my firm policy to wear the proper footware when I get between two fighting dogs. Although the last time I got between two fighting dogs and did have the proper footware on my feet, I still got bit. Maybe I should stay away from fighting dogs? Or at least teach Preston the path of peace?
My hands are full of dog fur. Preston lashes out to take a big chunk out of Ozzie’s hide with his less than sanitary mouth. Suffice it to say, Preston has gum disease in the worst way. The only problem with this potential attack is the fact my bare foot is between Preston’s mouth and Ozzie’s body. I look down to see Preston’s mouth firmly clamped on my left foot. He doesn’t look like he is going to let go any time soon. I might have screamed. I know I was quite concerned with the sight of the dog’s mouth flush to the top of my foot.
After a few seconds, Preston let go. Maybe he realized his mouth wasn’t full of fur? Ozzie then started to twist Preston back and forth. He had Preston on the left side, just behind the skull. It looked like he was getting ready to snap Preston in two. Due to bad backyard maintenance I had a brick on the deck. I picked it up and smacked Ozzie in the head with it. After another blow to the noggin, Ozzie finally let go. Ozzie looked at me with an expression that seemed to say “What are you doing” but seemed unfazed by the brick blows. By this time, the neighbor who owned the dogs had hopped the fence. He grabbed Ozzie and took Mikko from Cindi. They pulled the dogs out of the yard.
According to Cindi, Maeve thought this was some elaborate play-time and questioned why she wasn’t allowed to get involved in the frivolity. The neighbor on our other side had been woken by the noise and wanted to know if he could help. It turned out later we had woken quite a few of the neighbors. The ones to the rear were scared by all the yelling and screaming.
I hobbled into the kitchen to look at my foot. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I don’t think I’ve had a wound that big. It was about four inches long and an inch tall at it’s tallest. I could see a lot of meaty goodness through the torn skin. Our pit-bull owning neighbor, Andrew (or Lee, still don’t have the brothers straight) tended to Preston. Preston seemed to have a couple of puncture wounds but wasn’t bleeding in any copious amounts. All the blood on the kitchen floor was mine. I sat in the chair chugging ice team to calm down. I seem to get all jittery when I get bloody.
For about a millisecond, I contemplated not going to the emergency room. I must have been loopy because that voice was shot down. But I still decided I should drive. I did know the way after all.
We went to the Kaiser Medical facility on Sunset Boulevard. I’d been to this emergency room when I cut my foot open on a piece of glass that required five stitches. However by the time I had parked and hobbled over to the locked door of what should have been the entrance to the emergency room, a security guard appeared and told us the emergency room had been moved to the new facility. He said I could probably walk there from this point. I passed. Nor did I mention that they should take down the emergency room signs now that they’ve moved the emergency room.
At the new emergency room, they have a place for patient drop off, so I didn’t have to walk very far and Cindi could go park the car. I hobbled to the desk. I only had to wait in line behind one other person. I relayed my story for the first time about what happened. At first the person didn’t want to know, but curiosity compelled him. Dog bite. Yes, my dog bit me. But my dog was in the mouth of a much bigger dog at the time. I didn’t have to sit long before I was called into triage.
They took my pulse and temperature. They looked at the wound. I told the story. They brought in a wheel chair to take me to an examining room.
Kaiser has a lot of these rooms. I don’t know what it says about our city, but there had to be at least fifty of them. My first Doctor was Doctor Damiano, which also happens to be the name of a liqueur favored by John Steinbeck. It’s amazing the things that pop into your mind while sitting in the emergency room. Dr Damiano looked like he should be on General Hospital rather than working in one. He even had the name, Dr Damiano. He said I was going to have shots, xrays, and a good cleaning. Yes, I was bit by my dog. Flamboyant nurse Lou came and gave me my tetanus and antibiotic shots. At first Nurse Lou said he was going to put them in each arm but then he decided he need to put the antibiotic in my ass, instead. You make the call.
I thought they were going to wheel me off to get x-rays, but they brought the x-ray machine to me. The machine looked really old, the paint was peeling off in many places and was about the size of a dresser. It still seemed very cool to me they had a portable x-ray machine. For some reason, I wasn’t given the lead apron to protect me while they shot me full of radiation. Yes, x-ray technician, I was bit by my own dog.
The med tech, who cleaned the wound, turned out to be a liar. He also wasn’t very skilled in hiding the combination on his mobile medicine cart. The combination wasn’t a very good one either, but who is going to forget the numbers one through five? They cleaned my wound with a saline solution mixed with Hydrogen Peroxide. The med tech had a little squeeze bottle to shoot a high-pressure stream into the wound. This was the least fun part of the night. The water was ice cold. My foot could be described as a little tender. And the hydrogen peroxide stung. The med tech had the audacity to ask me why it hurt. “It’s a only a little water” I called him a liar as I pointed to the peroxide. He just chuckled and continued to force water into the wound.
Finally, they wrapped it up. Dr. Damiano said they didn’t have any openings for appointments in the wound clinic, so I should just come back to emergency and have the foot redressed in about twelve hours. They gave me prescriptions for Vicodin and antibiotics. Kaiser was nice enough to have a pharmacy open around the clock so I could fill my prescription.
We returned to the house around four. Yes, I drove home. I took my antibiotics but passed on the Vicodin. My pain wasn’t any where near where I needed pain medications. Plus, the thought of taking narcotics makes me feel all hinky. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to call my boss and tell him I probably wouldn’t be in until next Monday. It was only a flesh wound. How long was that going to take to heal?
My next doctor in the ER was Doctor Smith. He unwrapped the bandage, took one look at my wound and asked if I wanted morphine. I thought he was joking. He said if he had a wound like mine, he would be in tremendous pain. The other thing that got him all excited was I was a diabetic with foot wound. For some reason, they found this interesting. Dr. Smith decided I wasn’t going home today. My foot appeared to be infected and I was going to get to stay in the hospital while I received intravenous antibiotics. Yes, I was bit by my dog.
Two more doctors showed up and introduced themselves. Dog bite. They wanted to mark the area of the infection to see how fast it spread. I thought this was a good idea until they pulled out the ball point pen. You know when a pen doesn’t get enough traction on the paper to let the ink out and you drag it back and forth across the surface until it does? That’s what these witches did. But instead of paper, they used the delicate area around my foot. They even made a mistake with the lines and crossed one of them out. Maybe I should have signed up for that morphine, after all? I did suggest a sharpie.
Since I was staying, the question now was where to put me. If I was going to stay for under a day, they had a nice observation room to put me in. If it was going to be longer than that, I had to go upstairs into the hospital. Every new person who came into the room had a different idea of whether I was going into the observation room or the hospital. They also needed to hear the story of dog bites man.
I started to get shuffled around the ER. I was in the aisle for a while. They put my in the psyche observation room since it was empty. There wasn’t any equipment in that room nor were there any handles on the doors. I eventually got to share a room with a woman who I think had a stroke and couldn’t speak any English. One of her doctors was under the impression that if he just spoke loudly enough, her patient could understand English.
At 8pm, the podiatrist, Dr. Le, who was supposed to be there at 5pm, showed up. He gave me the good news that I would be there for a couple of days. He also came prepared to redo my bandage after he removed the old dressings. I later came to learn, he always came prepared. He told if you are going to move fast, you have to be ready. Dr. Le told me I would probably be off my feet for a month and I was going to get crutches. In my wildest estimations, I didn’t think I was going to have to be off my feet for a month.
Around ten, they finally found me a room on the sixth floor of the hospital. They also found me a roommate. He was watching the Dodger game on his Television. His bed also was next to the bathroom, so I got to see him every time I had to go. He did not look good.
My IV was still in at this time. I also learned I was going to get antibiotics every six hours. I got to stay up until midnight for the next batch. Doing some quick math, I knew I would have to be up at six for the one after that. The nurse then came in with my medications. Dog Bite. I was going to get a stool softener and a pepcid. My sister explained to me later, these were given to patients on Vicodin to help with side effects of that particular drug. Since I wasn’t taking the Vicodin, why was I being given the drugs to counter the side effects that I didn’t have? I didn’t know this at the time, but I still didn’t take the drugs. Just the phrase “Stool Softener” makes me shake. They took my blood sugar reading and it was high. The nurse appeared with some insulin. Pass. I’d just had a snack. Of course my blood sugar was high. Let the medicine battle begin. I did submit in one area. I wore the smock. I asked why. They said so I would look like a patient. I thought the bed, the bandage on my foot and the IV might have made me look like a patient, but what do I know?
For the next couple of days, I fell into the routine of the hospital. In the morning, young Dr. Khan would come in and take a look at my wound. If he was feeling brave, he would unwrap the bandage and the half assed wrap it back up. Otherwise, he would just shove at the bandage to take a look at the spreading infection. He told me they hadn’t really covered bandages at UCLA medical school. That’s what we saw the first day. The pinkness had spread well beyond the pen marks on my foot, even beyond the crossed out lines.
I would then have my blood sugar, blood pressure and heart rate checked. During my stay my vitals were always good. My blood sugar kept fluctuating to keep the doctors nervous. I kept refusing the insulin. A little while after that, I would get my blood drawn. The first day I asked the nurse what he was doing. He looked at me like I shouldn’t ask so many questions. I kept thinking of McMurtry in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”
Before Lunch, Dr. Mocammon, who I think was Dr. Khan’s supervisor, would stop in. She would castigate me for not taking my insulin. She also urged my to take my stool softener. She would ask me about my pain. I’d say it was a four on a scale of ten.
One night, I heard my roommate say his pain was eight and went to ten when they moved him. He was heartily sick of the whole hospital experience. He wished they would get him some toast. He felt like he was in prison. He’d been there for three weeks and was suffering from cancer. He left on my second day there to go back to the hospice.
For lunch, I would have my anti-biotic drip and a tray of scrumptious hospital food. Thankfully, Cindi was supplementing this with trips to Togo’s and bags of chips.
In the midday, there was another vital signs check and another blood sugar check.
Late in the Day, I got another visit from Dr. Le. He told me they had requested a consult with the infection doctors. Dr. Le wasn’t afraid to cut off the bandages and take a look at the wound. More spreading pinkness.
After dinner, the game was to stay awake until midnight for my last or first, depending on how you look at it, IV antibiotics of the day. Just so you know, television in the hospitals is just as crappy as the food. Although I don’t think that is the hospital’s fault, just a happy coincidence.
And that was the routine. My big concern was when was it going to end. My infection kept spreading but at a very slow rate. The doctors kept waiting for the antibiotics to kick in. The only change was that I had a different nurse every twelve hours. Yes, bit by my own dog.
Late Thursday, I finally got to see the infection specialist, Dr. Tsai. He took one look and wasn’t very concerned but did decide to add Vancomycin to my cocktail of IV’s. I thought they would discontinue the one when they added the other. No such luck. I was now on Vancomycin every eight hours. I now got an IV at 3am, too.
With the addition of the new antibiotic, I figured I would be there another two days at the least. But by the third batch, the pinkness in my foot had shrunk dramatically. Dr. Bernstein, Dr. Tsai’s colleague, said it looked good and I could probably go home. All he needed was approval from Dr. Le. Dr. Le came by later and said it was okay for me to leave.
The fun thing about the third dose of Vancomycin was that it had a lovely side effect. This whole time, I had the IV in my left am near my elbow. But during one batch of the Ampocyllin, it had started to leak. The same thing happened with the Vancomycin. This IV had been in my arm since Tuesday, and I think they were supposed to have already changed it. The nurse decided to move the IV insertion site up to my hand. This worked right up until the end when some of the Vancomycin got into my hand and made it swell up like a balloon. It was sort of a going away present for the hospital, one last thing to remember them by.
At this point, Dr Khan came back and asked me if I wanted to go home? Did I want to go home? I had a choice? The answer was yes. In the glacial pace of the hospital, it took me three hours after that to get discharged. I only had to fight the nurse a little not to start an IV in the other hand for the next phase of antibiotics as they waffled over paper work.
At some point, you might think some one had a laid a curse on me for my series of adventures. I’m sure a curse was laid, I was just standing too close to the person it landed on. Some got some on me. The person who got the full effect of the whammy was Cindi. She’d had a cold for two weeks and was unable to sleep. Her boyfriend is attacked by the dog and she spends five days running errands to and from the hospital all the while on no sleep. After she takes her boyfriend to the hospital, she has to take Preston to the Vet who is hurt a lot more seriously than originally thought. She gets to pay a six hundred dollar vet bill. The day after she brings Preston back from the vet, Maeve eats all of Preston’s pain medications and his antibiotics. She then gets to take Maeve to an emergency clinic to have Maeve’s stomach pumped. That only cost three hundred dollars. On the way to rescue me from the hospital, she gets a flat tire on the freeway during rush hour traffic. She’s also had over a thousand dollars in engine work done on her car. Even though the boyfriend is now home, he is nothing more than a lump on the couch because his podiatrist has given him the free pass. He is not supposed to put any weight on his foot for a month. Cindi now has to walk both dogs twice a day and cater to the whims of the lump. If anybody is cursed in this house, it’s her. I at least get to have a cool scar and know I did fearsome battle with the neighbor dog to save Preston’s life. Cindi just gets to clean up the surrounding mess while hacking and coughing.
The two things we learned are don’t ask for things to write about and don’t stand next
to people being cursed.