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My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

How did you get that BRUISE?

Life, post DVTs (aka blood clots) is an adventure.  Recently, my body has become somewhat of a dart board of black and blue marks.  I'm not even sure where these nasty looking bruises come from.  There is no rhyme nor reason as to their pattern.  And what is even more perplexing, if not even bizarrely entertaining, is that I can go to sleep and wake up the next morning, wondering where the latest round has appeared from.

I love dogs.  They are an extension of my soul and spirit.  My confirmation name, St. Francis of Assisi is appropriate.  When I was younger, I was the kid my parents dreamed or had nightmares about - the one that brought home some sort of animal, whether furry, feathered, quilled, or scaled.  All animals deserved a chance.  To my parents' credit, most creatures made a stop at our house, some stayed longer than others and some survived, and others received aid until they could pass from this life, over the Rainbow Bridge with dignity.  They were all welcome.

So, now living on coumadin, I am somewhat careful as to just how many gregarious doggies I can handle, or how may time my cat should be allowed to bite or scratch me.  A few dark spots here and there were gently and kindly diagnosed a "liver spots", better know as age spots.  I realized; an Epiphany of sorts, that I was reaching the mid point of life; that is, if we judge life spans from birth to 100.

Liver, not being high on my culinary tastes - I have renamed the liver spots, a more aesthetic sounding  "life experience" spots.  I love that name far more than liver.  Somewhere I figure there is a platter of onions awaiting me.  No way.  

The recent king daddy of bruises is behind my left calf.  It's a doosey.  And even more thrilling is that fact that I have no recollection of how it got there.  The lines and small spots I attribute to my over zealous dog, happy to see me when I walk through the door at the end of the day.  I wear those bruises as a bizarre badge of honor; someone loves me!  It's the ones that just appear from out of some secret jar of coumadin mystery bruises.

I suppose the alternative is another DVT, or worse pulmonary embolism.  I can mark those off my "been there, done that" list.  I can even mark a trip to Disneyland off as done. 

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