Got POKED today.
Hold on.
Hold on.
That’s the name I gave to my blood being checked/monitored. To prevent the form of clots around my mechanical mitral valve, coumadin (also known as warafin) is part of my daily regimen. True, this stuff was originally peddled as rat poison, yet was approved for medical use in the early 1950’s. It appeared to be effective and relatively safe in prevention of thrombosis and embolisms, (abnormal formation and migration of blood clots). I must have my blood checked every so often to make sure it’s not too thin or too thick—‘in the range’ of 2.5 to 3.5. Today 2.8. Happy Day—because I don’t go back for another month.
The POKE is really called my INR (international normalized ratio). It ensures I’m taking the proper daily dosage. It’s conducted pretty much the same way as if you’re checking your sugar level. My finger gets POKED (aha!), a drop or two of blood is put on a strip, which is then inserted into a little tester machine. A couple minutes worth of wait and chat with the nurse—then your INR number pops on the little tester machine’s face. The higher the number the thinner the blood, the lower means thicker. Once my INR was 1.4 and panic ensued. I had to give myself 3 days of shots of another drug (the name fails me-sorry)to aid the coumadin. Because of my blood’s thickness, it was feared clots would form. Thankfully, they didn’t.
Coumadin’s effectiveness is mainly due to the amount of vitamin K (green leafy veggies, like spinach) eaten. While I x’d off days in the hospital and wondered when I could finally leave, I was told to avoid spinach and broccoli from here on in. I could dally in iceberg—to a degree. I informed the nutritionist it’d taken me 20 years to like spinach, and now I couldn’t have any? Avoid it, she said. Even on the papers for the rules and regulation for recovery, there was a picture of spinach with a line drawn through it. I panicked.
Scared to eat anything green. If I did—once a week—maybe. I thought my mechanical valve would squeak if I did. The sure squeak would go along with with its tick tick tick (I do tick, ask Movie Man). On that 1.4 INR day, the folks at my doctor’s office reassured me they could regulate me if I ate green—in fact my body NEEDED green. Until then, sometimes every three days, I would have to get my blood checked. I wasn’t even close to being ‘in the range.’ Nurses tried to tell me, “just be consistent.” Then as I waited for these shots at the pharmacy, I asked the pharmacist.
He repeated, “just be consistent.” I groaned. Told him I was tired of hearing that and just what exactly did it mean? Well, he said, if you eat three salads a week, you eat three salads every week. Not one here, or one there, but three. Otherwise my blood would spike, and that’s not good either. He assured I could be regulated. I don’t know why my 100 watt bulb finally, since these words had been repeated over and over--yet my own “AHA!’ moment.
That night I bought a bag of all ready made tossed salad made with iceberg lettuce. I was giddy enough you swore I carried a blue box from Tiffany’s. I wiped sweat from my brow as the loaded fork entered mouth. What would happen?
Nothing.
As days went by, I dared myself to add a few spinach leaves to my ready made tossed iceberg salad. I fretted the next time I went for the INR. When the little tester machine showed me smack dab where I needed to be, I smiled so bright I blinded myself and the nurse. Being ‘in the range’ began to happen more often. Also the longer I stayed ‘in the range’, the longer I could stay away before another POKE. The longest time allowed was six weeks—and I made it!
I’ve had a couple slips, just minor—yet I’ve become such a poster child on coumadin and Vitamin K. I know when to adjust and realized it’s just a part of my daily routine. For now, for always. These days, I have five salad days—really salad nights, plus my daily lunch mixed veggies. All about being consistent.
My Heart Doc says she likes how I just keep on truckin as if nothing happened. Until something comes along to remind me. Like my scar itches or then I need to get POKED. Tablespoons of inconvenience, those are.
OK, so I take something that can rid us of rodents—so what? This stuff helps to rid me of another hospital stay. I can handle a poison like that.
He didn’t bring me this far to leave me.
The POKE is really called my INR (international normalized ratio). It ensures I’m taking the proper daily dosage. It’s conducted pretty much the same way as if you’re checking your sugar level. My finger gets POKED (aha!), a drop or two of blood is put on a strip, which is then inserted into a little tester machine. A couple minutes worth of wait and chat with the nurse—then your INR number pops on the little tester machine’s face. The higher the number the thinner the blood, the lower means thicker. Once my INR was 1.4 and panic ensued. I had to give myself 3 days of shots of another drug (the name fails me-sorry)to aid the coumadin. Because of my blood’s thickness, it was feared clots would form. Thankfully, they didn’t.
Coumadin’s effectiveness is mainly due to the amount of vitamin K (green leafy veggies, like spinach) eaten. While I x’d off days in the hospital and wondered when I could finally leave, I was told to avoid spinach and broccoli from here on in. I could dally in iceberg—to a degree. I informed the nutritionist it’d taken me 20 years to like spinach, and now I couldn’t have any? Avoid it, she said. Even on the papers for the rules and regulation for recovery, there was a picture of spinach with a line drawn through it. I panicked.
Scared to eat anything green. If I did—once a week—maybe. I thought my mechanical valve would squeak if I did. The sure squeak would go along with with its tick tick tick (I do tick, ask Movie Man). On that 1.4 INR day, the folks at my doctor’s office reassured me they could regulate me if I ate green—in fact my body NEEDED green. Until then, sometimes every three days, I would have to get my blood checked. I wasn’t even close to being ‘in the range.’ Nurses tried to tell me, “just be consistent.” Then as I waited for these shots at the pharmacy, I asked the pharmacist.
He repeated, “just be consistent.” I groaned. Told him I was tired of hearing that and just what exactly did it mean? Well, he said, if you eat three salads a week, you eat three salads every week. Not one here, or one there, but three. Otherwise my blood would spike, and that’s not good either. He assured I could be regulated. I don’t know why my 100 watt bulb finally, since these words had been repeated over and over--yet my own “AHA!’ moment.
That night I bought a bag of all ready made tossed salad made with iceberg lettuce. I was giddy enough you swore I carried a blue box from Tiffany’s. I wiped sweat from my brow as the loaded fork entered mouth. What would happen?
Nothing.
As days went by, I dared myself to add a few spinach leaves to my ready made tossed iceberg salad. I fretted the next time I went for the INR. When the little tester machine showed me smack dab where I needed to be, I smiled so bright I blinded myself and the nurse. Being ‘in the range’ began to happen more often. Also the longer I stayed ‘in the range’, the longer I could stay away before another POKE. The longest time allowed was six weeks—and I made it!
I’ve had a couple slips, just minor—yet I’ve become such a poster child on coumadin and Vitamin K. I know when to adjust and realized it’s just a part of my daily routine. For now, for always. These days, I have five salad days—really salad nights, plus my daily lunch mixed veggies. All about being consistent.
My Heart Doc says she likes how I just keep on truckin as if nothing happened. Until something comes along to remind me. Like my scar itches or then I need to get POKED. Tablespoons of inconvenience, those are.
OK, so I take something that can rid us of rodents—so what? This stuff helps to rid me of another hospital stay. I can handle a poison like that.
He didn’t bring me this far to leave me.
No comments:
Post a Comment