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Pain in the Leg


I woke up at 4:30am Friday morning with a severe pain in my left calf.  Not wanting to wake up this precious face or the husband, I used my cell phone light to take a gander at my leg.  I didn't see anything besides a mean-looking bruise.  I shrugged, put my phone back and tried to go back to bed.  I couldn't get the pain to stop.  My foot would feel cold one minute, then warm the next.

When Chet woke up for school at 6:30am, I still hadn't fallen back asleep.  I asked him to take a look, but he didn't see anything either besides the bruise.

The kids were up by 7:30am and I spent the morning feeding the baby, crocheting, folding laundry, doing Day 5 of the 30 Day Shred, and listening to Avery's thought-salad ("When I'm an adult, I will let my two oldest kids do whatever they want."  "If a burglar ever comes in the house, I will run downstairs, grab a weight and throw it at his forehead."  "What if I never find a boyfriend?!").

Chet came home in the evening and the pain in my calf and coolness in my foot wasn't going anywhere.  I did a few tests on myself, checked my peripheral pulses, palpated a few places, examined myself for any edema and decided that I didn't have any  reason to believe it was a blood clot or anything serious.  Then the pain would come back and I would decide for a brief moment that I should get it looked at, because after all, I'm not a doctor, I'm just a lowly nurse.

Then I remembered the time I was on the phone with an on-call doctor at work, and she didn't know what Morphine was.  I'm serious.  She didn't.  I explained what it was to her and she gave me an order to give a dose that's not normally given.  I told her that that's not a valid dosage.  She asked me what was and I told her.  She said to go with that then.  That's the day I realized that I was smarter than a doctor.

I continued to argue with myself about going in to get it looked at.

I won.  Or lost.  I decided to go in.  The worst they could do was laugh at me and send me back home.

I got into the clinic and was seen immediately.  Yay.  The doctor asked me if I had done anything different over the last few days.

"Um, Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred."  I said.

He looked at me over the rim of his glasses.

"Does your OB know you're doing that?"  he asked.
"Um, my baby is almost 7 weeks.  I'm allowed to exercise."  I replied.
"Well, maybe you should take her down a notch.  You injured this muscle here, which caused the blood vessels to break open here, therefore inflaming the tissue surrounding, which is cutting off some circulation to your lower leg and foot.  Don't exercise for another week."  he ordered.
"But, but, ok, fine."  I said.

Chet told me a few days ago that I should be worrying about fattening the baby up before I start worrying about slimming myself down.  Now a doctor was telling me not to work out for a week.  Just as I was starting to make some progress such as getting through Circuit 1 without taking a breather.  FINE THEN!  Geesh.



I love Friday nights.  Chet is in an intense semester, which is also his very last before he becomes The Law, and on weekdays he comes home in a zone, scurrying around, studying, getting ready for the next day.  On Friday's, he comes home relaxed and it's the first time in the week that I can have a conversation with him where he's actually paying 100% attention and not thinking about the proper handcuff technique or what MN statute allows him to search someone's vehicle.  He and Avery sat down for an intense game of War.


While they played, Tucker and Piper would crawl up his leg and he'd give them a little shove, rolling them like barrels down his leg.  They'd laugh hysterically and do it all over again.


It was fun and no one got hurt.  Win-win for everyone.

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