Forgive me gentle readers, for I am a wimp.
I think your advice regarding Macc is sensible; but having rescued him (well received him from a rescuer) and housed and loved him for eight years I feel I have to give us both another chance. Yes, he was wicked and uncivilised, but I feel partly at fault, failing to appreciate cat-territory-psychology. And the only other time I have been injured by a cat (not Macc) I was also trying to gently shoo him in a direction he didn't want to go. Clearly this is not sensible behaviour on my part.
I won't risk another confrontation between Macc and an intruder, especially if I am home by myself.
As for the wounds ... I tried to get in to see a 'family doctor' yesterday at the local private hospital. I tried to make an appointment online but their system was down. I tried to ring the booking number but all I got was the Arabic answering machine (15 times in a row). Eventually I tried the 'guest relations' number, where I got lost in a 'your call is important to us, please hold the line' and eventual Arabic answering machine loop (7 times); then I finally spoke to a person who immediately tried to transfer me to the Arabic answering machine number. But I said Stop! I don't want to leave a message because they are never answered. I want to make an appointment. No dice. But he did take my mobile number and several hours later, a person did call me. The only appointment they could offer me was Saturday at 3 pm. Surprisingly, I turned it down.
The joys and challenges of life in Exile.
My arm looks better than yesterday. We changed the dressings last night and poured more betadine into the wounds. There may be a slight amount of infection but truly, if any, only slight. The wounds are not red or raw looking. Believe me, I have an amazingly strong immune system in spite of efforts to slow it down and I think it is coping with the latest assault pretty well.
If it gets worse or does not seem to be improving, I promise I will go and line up for hours to see a doctor.
And next week I have to go back to the government hospital doctor anyway, so if she thinks it needs more intervention, believe me, she will shout enough for all of you.
Thank you for all your kind words and understanding. As Marius said last night, if it was infected, it wouldn't be improving, it would be getting worse ... or not showing signs of healing.
x
Showing posts with label wounds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wounds. Show all posts
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Wounds & Wolfe
Not much writing as the right hand is er, damaged.
I have perfected a (foolish) technique cat-wise: Wolfe sits on the threshold and maows. I close the back garden door so that the brute can't come in. I open the front door and let Wolfe in. She is in the kitchen eating the porridge as it were (partly because - and this is a homeless cat, remember? - she doesn't like the new cat-crunchies I bought at the weekend so won't eat what I give her outside), as I'm writing this and Macc is at the back door scowling.
But honestly, I cannot cope with any more dramas.
The wounds in my palm and the back of my hand are clean and healing nicely - they were the ones inflicted by the back feet.
The scratches up my arm, inflicted by the front paws are fading quickly.
However, surprise, surprise, the deep puncture wounds inflicted by Macc's fangs are not doing so well and I am considering showing them to a doctor. I am not sure if they are infected or not. The whole area around the FOUR punctures is slightly rosy and slightly warm and sensitive to the touch. I think it is more tender than it was two days ago. Not angry red or puffed up. Is the appearance the result of the healing process or something more sinister? I am worried: I want to be reassured that I won't come down with septicaemia or gangrene ...
So I will drag myself off to the hospital this afternoon after Marius gets home. I hope the GP will understand my drug-related restrictions on antibiotics/vaccines and not kill me through ignorance. I will arm myself with more research first.
Double bummer as I really wanted to go a week without a medical visit!
Wolfe has finished the porridge and is mooching about. I will let her back out the front in a minute.
I have not resolved my feelings about Macc. I think (anthropomorphising) he is contrite, and I accept some of what happened was the result of my stupidity, but I don't feel forgiving and I don't feel trusting or relaxed.
Wolfe has gone out the front door now. Ming came in the back door ... dramas averted.
In case you didn't see it the first time, and being mildly prophetic:
x
I have perfected a (foolish) technique cat-wise: Wolfe sits on the threshold and maows. I close the back garden door so that the brute can't come in. I open the front door and let Wolfe in. She is in the kitchen eating the porridge as it were (partly because - and this is a homeless cat, remember? - she doesn't like the new cat-crunchies I bought at the weekend so won't eat what I give her outside), as I'm writing this and Macc is at the back door scowling.
But honestly, I cannot cope with any more dramas.
The wounds in my palm and the back of my hand are clean and healing nicely - they were the ones inflicted by the back feet.
The scratches up my arm, inflicted by the front paws are fading quickly.
However, surprise, surprise, the deep puncture wounds inflicted by Macc's fangs are not doing so well and I am considering showing them to a doctor. I am not sure if they are infected or not. The whole area around the FOUR punctures is slightly rosy and slightly warm and sensitive to the touch. I think it is more tender than it was two days ago. Not angry red or puffed up. Is the appearance the result of the healing process or something more sinister? I am worried: I want to be reassured that I won't come down with septicaemia or gangrene ...
So I will drag myself off to the hospital this afternoon after Marius gets home. I hope the GP will understand my drug-related restrictions on antibiotics/vaccines and not kill me through ignorance. I will arm myself with more research first.
Double bummer as I really wanted to go a week without a medical visit!
Wolfe has finished the porridge and is mooching about. I will let her back out the front in a minute.
I have not resolved my feelings about Macc. I think (anthropomorphising) he is contrite, and I accept some of what happened was the result of my stupidity, but I don't feel forgiving and I don't feel trusting or relaxed.
Wolfe has gone out the front door now. Ming came in the back door ... dramas averted.
In case you didn't see it the first time, and being mildly prophetic:
x
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Soap Opera
My life seems inexplicably to have turned itself into a soap opera. What would I call it? In some traditions it would be Fifth Avenue (where Isabel lives), or perhaps something maudlin, like The Exiled (where Isabel is doomed to live), or it could be Compound Mates (a la Neighbours), but the dramas are much more self-contained, sadly.
After all the family dramas in Melbourne over the summer/winter - three generations plus dog - you would think it was time for some nice boring pottering, wouldn't you?
I would like to tell you that after my 'emergency' infusion in August, I am feeling very well: the best I have felt for more than two years. Perhaps I have gone in to remission? Perhaps the shocking cold gave my immune system something else to work on than my own musculature and distracted it? I have all my extremeties crossed and twisted, just to be on the safe side.
Yesterday I was chattting to Prima on skype and we discussed the immune-system-distraction theory. She suggested a really robust infection, such as antibiotic resistant tuberculosis or good old fashioned peritonitis or one of those challenges. Hhmmmm ...
Interesting but risky ...
I was feeling terrific though. I tidied up after the dress-up dinner on Friday night, I changed the sheets, I sorted some mail, I threw out newspapers and I began to unpack the dishwasher. This is an unheard of level of activity for me in my convalescent state - and it was only midday.
I invited Wolfe in, not expecting her to be brave enough to cross the threshold. Mr Macc and Miss Ming were asleep in the garden. Wolfe stepped in cautiously. She followed me into the kitchen and had a sniff around while I put plates (two at a time! such strength!) in the cupboard. I put her bowl down near where the resident cats' bowls were and she sniffed at hers. Goldilocks-like she tried the other two as well. It was all going rather well. I thought, I'll put you out the front again in a minute, but hesitated because there was an enormous peacock perched on the roof of the car who I didn't want to talk to.
Then Macc came in, not too pleased. He huffed and puffed for a bit and I spoke to him in a calming voice and managed to get the side (kitchen) door open and scooted him out before any physical encounters.
I thought to myself, they do need to get to know one another and some posturing is inevitable, isn't it?
Wolfe curled herself up on the mat by the kitchen door and looked quite settled. Then Macc came back in and did some more growling, so I sat down between them, speaking in my 'cat-whisperer' voice and stroking Macc and telling him what a good boy he was, and how nice Wolfe was too. Things were going pretty well, I thought.
Ming came in to see what the fuss was about, but she didn't participate in the next phase, in fact she fled.
Macc was getting himself quite worked up so I thought, enough experiment for one day, time to persuade him out of the kitchen and Wolfe outside. I managed to waft him to the hall door, with a little bit of firm persuasion. There I planned to close the door and then let Wolfe (who had not moved throughout the encounter, but did growl back) out the kitchen side door where she would spring over the wall, etc.
I got Macc to the threshold and was about to close the door with him on the other side of it, when ... well he forgot he was a civilised domestic cat with a loving owner. He sprang on my bare forearm, sank his jaws into the fleshy part below the elbow, wrapped his front paws around my arm, clung on and flung his hind paws, claws fully extended, into my wrist and palm. There he kicked, repeatedly. And then, dear reader, he hung on, all 8 kilos of him. And on.
I screamed. Marius says I should have kicked him or thrown him against the wall, which I suppose I would have done if sense had visited me. I thought scream and he'll realise how much he's hurting me ... he did and he still held on. Eventually, perhaps the taste of blood put him off? he let go and I slammed the door between us.
There was blood splashed about the floor, drippinging down my legs from my arm and I shook all over. I managed to pull a clean tea towel out of the drawer and I wrapped it around my right arm (yes, of course I am right handed). I lurched over to the keys and opened the side door for Wolfe who sensibly scarpered.
I sat down on the chair. I took a peek at my gashes and weighed up the chances of giving myself first aid: nil. I opened the hall door (no cats in sight) and found my mobile phone and called a neighbour, who fortunately is a brilliantly trained nurse.
Now I am covered in streaks of betadine (the most useful antiseptic to have in your house - if you don't have any, go and buy some, now) and interesting clear bandages. I oozed a bit. My palm in particular stung yesterday. The deep puncture wounds are pretty scary looking (I am not morbid enough to post photos, sorry) and I am conscious of them, but not in particular pain.
Most importantly, the wounds do not seem to be infected, but I hope they are keeping my immune system busy anyway.
My feelings about Macc are somewhat confused. It is not nice to think we have a pet we cannot trust in our house. Macc is rather subdued himself and did not come to bed with us last night and knows he has been getting the cold shoulder.
Perhaps it was stupid of me to invite Wolfe in. Hindsight is often cruel, is it not?
x
After all the family dramas in Melbourne over the summer/winter - three generations plus dog - you would think it was time for some nice boring pottering, wouldn't you?
I would like to tell you that after my 'emergency' infusion in August, I am feeling very well: the best I have felt for more than two years. Perhaps I have gone in to remission? Perhaps the shocking cold gave my immune system something else to work on than my own musculature and distracted it? I have all my extremeties crossed and twisted, just to be on the safe side.
Yesterday I was chattting to Prima on skype and we discussed the immune-system-distraction theory. She suggested a really robust infection, such as antibiotic resistant tuberculosis or good old fashioned peritonitis or one of those challenges. Hhmmmm ...
 |
| Prima as Rapunzel |
I was feeling terrific though. I tidied up after the dress-up dinner on Friday night, I changed the sheets, I sorted some mail, I threw out newspapers and I began to unpack the dishwasher. This is an unheard of level of activity for me in my convalescent state - and it was only midday.
I invited Wolfe in, not expecting her to be brave enough to cross the threshold. Mr Macc and Miss Ming were asleep in the garden. Wolfe stepped in cautiously. She followed me into the kitchen and had a sniff around while I put plates (two at a time! such strength!) in the cupboard. I put her bowl down near where the resident cats' bowls were and she sniffed at hers. Goldilocks-like she tried the other two as well. It was all going rather well. I thought, I'll put you out the front again in a minute, but hesitated because there was an enormous peacock perched on the roof of the car who I didn't want to talk to.
Then Macc came in, not too pleased. He huffed and puffed for a bit and I spoke to him in a calming voice and managed to get the side (kitchen) door open and scooted him out before any physical encounters.
I thought to myself, they do need to get to know one another and some posturing is inevitable, isn't it?
Wolfe curled herself up on the mat by the kitchen door and looked quite settled. Then Macc came back in and did some more growling, so I sat down between them, speaking in my 'cat-whisperer' voice and stroking Macc and telling him what a good boy he was, and how nice Wolfe was too. Things were going pretty well, I thought.
Ming came in to see what the fuss was about, but she didn't participate in the next phase, in fact she fled.
Macc was getting himself quite worked up so I thought, enough experiment for one day, time to persuade him out of the kitchen and Wolfe outside. I managed to waft him to the hall door, with a little bit of firm persuasion. There I planned to close the door and then let Wolfe (who had not moved throughout the encounter, but did growl back) out the kitchen side door where she would spring over the wall, etc.
I got Macc to the threshold and was about to close the door with him on the other side of it, when ... well he forgot he was a civilised domestic cat with a loving owner. He sprang on my bare forearm, sank his jaws into the fleshy part below the elbow, wrapped his front paws around my arm, clung on and flung his hind paws, claws fully extended, into my wrist and palm. There he kicked, repeatedly. And then, dear reader, he hung on, all 8 kilos of him. And on.
I screamed. Marius says I should have kicked him or thrown him against the wall, which I suppose I would have done if sense had visited me. I thought scream and he'll realise how much he's hurting me ... he did and he still held on. Eventually, perhaps the taste of blood put him off? he let go and I slammed the door between us.
There was blood splashed about the floor, drippinging down my legs from my arm and I shook all over. I managed to pull a clean tea towel out of the drawer and I wrapped it around my right arm (yes, of course I am right handed). I lurched over to the keys and opened the side door for Wolfe who sensibly scarpered.
I sat down on the chair. I took a peek at my gashes and weighed up the chances of giving myself first aid: nil. I opened the hall door (no cats in sight) and found my mobile phone and called a neighbour, who fortunately is a brilliantly trained nurse.
Now I am covered in streaks of betadine (the most useful antiseptic to have in your house - if you don't have any, go and buy some, now) and interesting clear bandages. I oozed a bit. My palm in particular stung yesterday. The deep puncture wounds are pretty scary looking (I am not morbid enough to post photos, sorry) and I am conscious of them, but not in particular pain.
Most importantly, the wounds do not seem to be infected, but I hope they are keeping my immune system busy anyway.
My feelings about Macc are somewhat confused. It is not nice to think we have a pet we cannot trust in our house. Macc is rather subdued himself and did not come to bed with us last night and knows he has been getting the cold shoulder.
Perhaps it was stupid of me to invite Wolfe in. Hindsight is often cruel, is it not?
x
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