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Thursday, February 16, 2017

Parotid Duct Obstruction Treatment: Day Seven

Last evening, I noticed that the area of the enormous swelling on the left side of my face where the ENT specialist Dr. Mark Miller had inserted a needle and withdrawn perhaps two c.c.s of pus last Tuesday morning, was pulsating with each beat of my heart in a rather fiery fashion.

I checked, and saw that I had a large whitish area nearly the size of a trimmed thumbnail ─ the infection seemed to be achieving a 'head.'

Unsure if I should just allow this to run its course, I gave Dr. Miller a call on his cellphone. I am already due to see him on Friday. He confirmed my assessment, and said that if it was bothersome enough, to go to the emergency section at Surrey Memorial Hospital.

That wasn't necessary ─ I had only required assurance that it was nothing to be concerned about if this broke open.

So come bedtime, I placed a pad against the great swelling and went to bed wearing a hood over my head.

I was in bed by 11:01 p.m.

When finally I decided to rise this morning, it was 8:57 a.m. I had used the bathroom several times overnight to pee. However, I felt decent ─ i.e., I didn't feel need for an Advil. I have been limiting myself to three a day since beginning them last Thursday.

I did sweat overnight again, however, rendering my bedding very clammy.

And yes, the infectious area did break open. The pad had a wet area about the size of a loonie or toonie, and I saw a ridge of greyish pus in my beard that was maybe 1½ inches long. It was soft, and quite a job to wash away.

I have an ertapenem IV drip scheduled for the noon-hour today, with some blood-taking beforehand for testing purposes. This is to take place at the Jim Pattison Outpatient Care and Surgery Centre. They are located just over a mile from where I live, but my youngest step-son Poté has today off work and will be driving me.

However, I have twice received a call this morning from Dr. Miller ─ he is scrambling to get me another damned CT scan. I already had one last Friday afternoon.

But he has mentioned that it might need to take place at the Royal Columbian Hospital, and not the Surrey Memorial Hospital which is a mere five or so blocks from where I live. I think that if there is no option but the Royal Columbian, I will refuse. As I said, I feel good today ─ the pain has subsided, and I know that I could easily go the day without any pain medication whatsoever.

In fact, if I did not have the needle injection set-up for the IV drip ─ the needle is in my left forearm and all wrapped up, and just waiting for the IV attachment ─ I feel good enough to exercise today. I feel just about normal ─ I just have the large facial swelling.

I would rather just be left alone to be seen by the staff at Jim Pattison so that they can draw their own conclusions about the state of things today, now that the swelling has broken open and begun draining. Or at least, it had done so overnight.

The angry pulsations matching my heartbeat are gone ─ whatever had been brewing in the site of infection has tapered right away. I guess everything was 'coming to a boil,' and that has now been accomplished. The pressure was released when the mass of pus oozed out last night.    

Even the swelling has reduced.

...It is 10:47 a.m. right now, and I have just finished my third call from Dr. Miller. He wanted me to go to the Royal Columbian Hospital for the CT scan this afternoon, but I threw up some resistance.

I explained that I feel good, and countered that I preferred to just see what the folks at Jim Pattison have to say once I get into some details about last night and they get a chance to have a look at the swelling break. I also said that I would tell them of his wishes that I receive the CT scan, and that he has tried and tried but is unable to reach anyone at Surrey Memorial.

Jim Pattison and the Surrey Memorial have a strong affiliation, so maybe Jim Pattison may be able to establish a contact with a key player at Surrey Memorial ─ if the CT scan is that important.

But is it?

I would really like a second opinion thereon.  

It would be a virtual ordeal for me to get out to the Royal Columbian. And I dislike deeply having to keep imposing upon my youngest step-son Poté. That in itself is near enough to an ordeal. I am independent, and detest feeling this ongoing indebtedness to the young fellow.

...It is now 11:20 a.m. Dr. Miller has called me for the fourth time.

He finally got through to the Surrey Memorial, and someone will be contacting me about a CT scan this afternoon. I just hope Poté will be available to take me. He is actually still in bed right now with his girlfriend, so I have had no counsel with him today.

*****

Well, Poté roused in time to get me to Jim Pattison. The folks doing the ertapenem drip didn't want me to submit blood at the designated area until I had been finished with.

I saw the infectious diseases specialist Dr. Mirzanejad, but he chose to stay away from me. I believe that he may actually be involved in the procedure early Monday morning to try and empty out the infection from the parotid duct obstruction abscess.

I am to see him tomorrow morning, but had he seen me this afternoon, maybe he might have seen that the drainage of the site is a real possibility now.

Anyway, after the drip was done, I had to take a 'requisition' to an adjacent section on that floor, select a ticket number, and await my turn to get called up. There were only a half-dozen people ahead of me, but it still took about 40 minutes.

And guess what? All they did was swab inside my elbow, stick me with a needle to take some blood, and I was done ─ not two minutes!

There is a small Shoppers Drug Mart in the Jim Pattison building, and since my nutritional supplements supply is very low, I did a fair stocking up.

Then I went outside and texted Poté that I was finished. While awaiting him, I took these three photos at 2:17 p.m.:




Compare this to a collage of three photos I took there yesterday:


Quite a sight, eh?

I had eaten nothing today yet, so once home I got a small bowl of my wife Jack's congee, and gingerly inserted spoons of the stuff into my partially-openable mouth.

I could feel some pain across the spot where the pus had seeped out of the swelling last night ─ it felt almost as if I was breaking some tiny stitches.

When I was done eating, on a suspicion I checked myself out in a mirror ─ and sure enough, the opening had broached, and more puss had thickly oozed out into my beard.

Just then Dr. Miller phoned, just to say that the Surrey Memorial was going to push ahead to get me in as soon as possible for the CT scan.

For the present, I just wanted time to try and wash clear the puss.

But of course, that is just when the hospital called ─ could I come over right now? I explained my cleansing requirement, so I was told that it was okay as long as I was there within an hour. That was maybe 3:15 p.m.

By the time I had cleaned up, it was about 3:40 p.m. I went downstairs to see what was going on with Poté...and realized that he and his girlfriend had gone to bed.

So I readied, and just walked the five or so blocks to the hospital.

I am obviously home again now (I walked) ─ I was finished with the CT scan and released just ahead of 5:00 p.m.

Now tomorrow morning, at 10:00 a.m. I am to be at Jim Pattison for another ertapenem IV drip, and I will be seeing Dr. Yaz Mirzanejad. When everything is finished with over there, Dr. Mark Miller wants to see me ─ he has his office on my way home. At least both of these independent specialists will at last be getting to see the massive (in my opinion) seepage that is going on with the abscess.

I have had to keep tissue over it since eating this afternoon and breaking the site open. Or at least, I have kept it covered in order to go forth into the public again, for it keeps seeping. But it can do what it wants now that I am back home.

By the way, I will not be requiring an Advil today ─ I am off them, I hope. 

∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟∟

Here is where I close for the day with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the small space in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.
My major agenda item for the day was a hike out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The home she shared with her husband Alex was my main mailing address.

The house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. To hike there from my room would take about 1½ hours of rapid walking.
MONDAY, February 16, 1976

I got up at 5:10 a.m., feeling rather underslept for some reason, but full thanks to last night's meal.

I'll mail my second Playboy lottery entry when I head for mom's, leaving here c. 7:05 a.m.

Well, Greta neither showed nor phoned again.

I weighed in at a disappointing 186. And of course, I ate a caloriec glut today.

The mail brought the 3 sets of 5 Currier & Ives prints I ordered from T.P. Products, and they are inferior to my expectations.

I also received ordering coupons for the Olympic & Western Lotteries from the Canadian Big 4 Amateur Football Conference, and best of all, from Donald M. Grant came a slip of paper bearing "To Garnet H.G. Barcelo with Best Wishes from H. Warner Munn" in the latter's handwriting. 

Cathy phoned and spoke to mom a short while in the afternoon. Then about 3:45 p.m. Phyllis dropped by; I had planned to leave soon after 4:00 p.m., but didn't get away for half an hour later due to her, for I feared to prepare to leave lest she offer me a ride my flabby belly didn't need.

My foot still gets sensitive, but I think now I can walk any distance; running is all that seems to be denied me.

My final $50 incentive cheque wasn't here when I got back; it better arrive tomorrow, or I might that day go hunting for it.

I planned all week-end to possibly apply at Dare today, but I absolutely chickened out after reaching mom's. Besides, I am developing a narrow beard and wish to just give it a chance to sprout to neat dimensions.

I'm suffering some indigestion.

I'm bedding at 8:30 p.m.
Greta was a Dutch friend of my mother's who had said that she might come down from Barriere and stay for a few days while she looks for a place of her own  Her boyfriend Kurt had learned that she was 14 years his senior, and he couldn't seem to handle it. Thus, if Greta and Kurt were splitting, then Greta was supposed to come to stay with my mother a short time.

I have no idea if I still have that H. Warner Munn signature item! Heck, reading about it here is news to me! 

It was my younger brother Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther who phoned my mother in the afternoon; and then my older maternal half-sister Phyllis came for a visit.

The incentive cheque was the last payment I was to receive for working a day a week as a truck swamper for a New Westminster charitable organization. I must have been with them nigh on two years, but their government grant expired and they could not renew my contract.

Okay, it is 6:59 p.m. I will proofread this post, then publish it ─ and have a bit of a lie-down to rest my eyes.
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