And It Rained, Too

Complete failure at the hospital yesterday.

I went in for my monthly platelet donation. The guy who took my blood pressure always gets a high reading (within acceptable range but always on the high side). I always joke/complain so this time he took another reading and the diastolic came in six points lower than the first try. He blames it on the machine but others have tested me on the same machine and he has tested me on the other machine more than once.

I had a premonition something wasn't right when the "pinch" of the needle insertion continued after the draw had started but that can happen sometimes if there is any moisture on the skin at the insertion point that then gets carried along with the tip of the needle. However, the draw started O.K. so the nurse stepped out to get lunch leaving me with the tech who did the blood pressure test.

No sooner was she gone than I felt fluttering in the vein and the machine started beeping. The fluttering usually means the tip of the needle is touching a valve in the vein which can randomly restrict its intake. The tech could feel it, too, and did his best to attend the machine but he wasn't comfortable trying to adjust either the machine or the needle in the vein. So we waited, rebooting the machine every few minutes as the poor draw caused beeping alarms.

When the nurse returned, we explained the situation and she reduced both the draw and return rates on the machine which made the fluttering go away but otherwise did no good. She then tried adjusting the needle and ended up holding it in her hand propping it against the inside of my elbow for a minute or so which was untenable in the long run.

She tried moving the needle into a stable position where she could leave it alone but, instead, hit the vein wall and punctured it. She realized what happened even before I felt the pain. She had the needle out and gauze on the site while I was still saying, "Ow!"

They had less than a half unit of platelets so that was useless. Because if the immediate removal of the needle none of the blood in the machine could be returned leaving me too low (according to SOP) to donate again before my next scheduled time in order to try making up for this one. All of the tubing and the half bag of platelets were disposed of (which would have happened anyway, for the tubing). And we all lost a good two hours of time. Plus, a lot of other donors have been calling in sick so the hospital isn't exactly swimming in platelets right now as it is.

I ended up with two cookies, some apple juice and a subdural hematoma which, while a pretty purple right now, will soon turn sickly green and then yellow before it fades.

Redneck Studies: The 70% Complete Solution

I've mentioned before my theory that the reason redneck properties end up looking like redneck properties is the subjects' congenital inability to complete any project. I hold to that premise.

Just a few recent items of note in passing:

My brother has a power wash machine that's been sitting in the garage for a couple years now. (I think the last time it was used was when Mom died and he blasted (most of) the outside of the house before the cousins came over for her wake.) A couple months ago he took it out and discovered just how easy it was to clean the driveway of twenty-odd years of weather, dirt and grime. He would do a smallish section at a time a couple times a week and we moved the vehicles around accordingly to accommodate.

Except he's apparently become bored with that now. The last 20-25% of the driveway, down by the street, hasn't been touched in weeks and there is no indication he intends to go any further. And it's not an even break between completed/untouched sections where he can pretend that it's a different color concrete or anything. It's just obviously not done.

The Christmas tree, at least, came down a week after I removed the last of the ornaments. He insists there is one proper way to assemble and disassemble the tree and he knows what that is. So it's in its box . . . which is still sitting in the hallway two weeks later. I do not know the location of his storage unit, neither do I have a key.

Meanwhile, though, he suddenly had the urge last evening to clean out the roll-top desk. It needed it desperately, having accumulated probably a decade's worth of holiday cards, utility bills, batteries (dead and alive), pens (dead and alive), address books (mostly alive), insurance calendars (assuredly dead), and other assorted ephemera and impedimenta. He had apparently finished by the time I came home since he was in his room watching TV having left the chair he was using blocking the doorway and all the drawers and top of the desk wide open. Do you want cats in your roll-top desk? Because that's how you get cats in your roll-top desk. They'd climb on it occasionally even when it was shut. I closed everything up.

I believe he honestly does not see finishing detail. And certainly does not see it as part of the project. The project was to take down the tree. It's down. The project was to clean out the desk. It's clean. End of story.

I don't know what the deal is with the driveway.