1111
A binary event: This will be my 1111th entry here. Why that should be significant is beyond me, but it amuses, and so I will note the occasion.
Last night I was awakened from a sound sleep by one of the worst calf cramps I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been experiencing some minor cramping on and off for a couple weeks, but I could always master the situation by simply relaxing and waiting. If I took care not to move, the muscles wouldn’t spasm and the cramp would eventually go away. This approach to cramp relief didn’t work last night. No matter how still I tried to stay, the muscles just balled up worse and worse. I figure I must have made some noise because the Socialist came in to check on me. I have no clue how long it lasted, but I ended up going through two separate sessions of cramps, and this morning I discovered that I’ve pulled the hell out of my calf muscles, making going up and down stairs excruciating. Cramps can either be caused by not enough or by too much potassium, and I suspect that my electrolytes are off balance because of my meds and my potassium is too high. I have no idea what can be done about that, but I intend to call the transplant unit tomorrow (when they should have my most current bloodwork) and ask what my levels are and how we can fix them.
The world was sneakily dangerous this morning. I found out the hard way when I walked out to the trusty little Prius and opened the door. To phrase this more accurately, I tried to open the door to my trusty little Prius. It turned out that last night’s dew had frozen, and what I took for water on the car was actually ice. The door was welded shut in a nearly invisible casing, and instead of gaining access to the front seat, I ripped two of my fingernails halfway along the quick.
Days that start this way seldom get any better, and so far this omen of doom has indeed proved its prophetic clairvoyance. Yesterday we had three major equipment breakdowns at work, in three different key spots. This morning a fourth breakdown has occurred, in apparently a fourth spot. One begins to suspect industrial sabotage, but then one always was a little paranoid. Yesterday the breakdowns meant a long and painful day for yours truly, but today will be a different breed of long and painful day, regardless of the ensuing breakdowns that may or may not occur here.
This afternoon I have yet another rendezvous with dentistry. I doubt that any reader will be as interested in the state of my mouth as I am, but I find it intriguing that, when I was sick with liver failure, my teeth stayed clean, and my gums were quite healthy looking. Now that I’m post-transplant, I build up plaque faster than my toothbrush can keep up with it, and my gums bleed if I look at them cockeyed. I can only assume that this is a side effect of the immunosuppression, but if it is I whole-heartedly resent it. I’d taken pride in finally getting my mouth in order, and now it refuses to cooperate. I can see why my transplant doctors suggest dental appointments four times a year. If I only went every six months, they’d have to clean my teeth with dynamite.
Afterward I’m hoping to head home and take care of those interview questions I have to do. The Socialist has Tuesday evening classes, so I should have a nice big block of uninterrupted time in which to take care of this obligation. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to doing them. It will be fun to go back through people’s journals with an eye to asking them pertinent questions about their experiences and philosophies. I tend to be nosey anyhow, and this is a fine way to satisfy my snoop gene.