A lazy, lazy Saturday (Dec 6)

Saturday was my first day in perhaps two weeks to sleep in without the stress and anxiety of the move hanging over me.  My body still woke me up at 8:30 AM, but I stubbornly continued to lie in bed until 9:30 AM, just because I could.  It was wonderful to have a slow, relaxing morning.  By the time I had showered and dressed, it was 11:30 AM, and I had missed the hotel's breakfast offering downstairs.  The weather looked pleasant, so I decided it would be a good day to try to walk between Town Centre and my new house.

Here's what the weather was like on Saturday.  It was fairly sunny and clear, but cold and windy, too.  This is the view to the east from my 8th floor hotel room.  The white on the tops of the buildings is frost.  The gray building with the curved roof just to the right of center is the ice skating rink.  The development where my house is located is just beyond that.

This is view more to the north-east.  The triangular roofline on the left hand side of the photo is the historic Market House, originally built in the 1880s.

Since I had slept and lazed through breakfast, I needed a stop at Costa Coffee along the way.  Costa is kind of like Starbucks, but better.  You don't see many Starbucks around the north of England.  They seem to be few and far between.  I don't know if it's because Costa has competed better in the marketplace or not, but I suspect it might have more to do with Starbucks having been absolutely vilified in the British press for what they call 'tax dodging', which is all perfectly legal tax planning, but which nonetheless is viewed as evil by all the screaming socialists obsessed with getting their 'fair share' of other people's money.  I can say vilified with confidence, because aside from reading the bashing in the press, I've actually heard people bad-mouthing Starbucks while they're standing in line in Costa, "Well, I'd never get my coffee from Starbucks!"

I mention that mostly because there was a very interesting interview last week with George Osborne, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, after his Autumn Statement, in which he talked about wanting to encourage business growth and manufacturing out of one side of his mouth whilst he talked about cracking down on tax avoidance out of the other.  Here's the rub, for those who haven't already figured it out - in a global economy, the two are mutually exclusive.

Anyways, I've already fallen in love with Costa, mostly because they have a Christmas special that is a STICKY TOFFEE LATTE.  Starbucks' peppermint mocha or gingerbread latte can kiss my a$$.  Sticky Toffee Latte wins every time.

The Costa is located on George Street, which is the pedestrian street at the heart of the Town Centre.  From there, I walked across the railroad tracks over to the side of town my house is on.  Along the way, I stopped to admire the new public transportation hub which just opened up on Sunday.  The new Altrincham Interchange looks magnificent.

At a leisurely pace with a coffee in my hand, the walk takes about 15-20 minutes.  I hung out with Mona Kitty for a bit, and I chatted with the contractor who was there working on some of the repairs and maintenance to the house.  Although I was dissatisfied with the condition of the place when I arrived, I'm satisfied that the Property Manager has been working diligently to make things right.

After my visit with Mona, I walked back to the Town Centre and up to the Market to see what it looked like on Saturday during the day.  It was just as packed as Friday night, but it was a more normal weekly market with fresh produce, fish, beef and common household goods for sale.  I still enjoyed seeing everyone out and about doing their shopping, but this was just the usual weekly shopping, not so much for Christmas presents.  I peeked inside the Market House, and seeing that it wasn't quite as busy as the previous night, I scored a seat and tried one of the BlackJack Brewery beers (very good).  

Then I noticed that the Reserve wine shop was giving free sherry tastings, so of course, I had to try that, too.  It was a bodega I'd never tried before, so that was fun, and I bought a bottle of their oloroso for later.

After a pint and some sherry, I was ready for an afternoon nap.  On the way back to the hotel, I cut through a little alley and spotted a specialty beer bottle shop.  I didn't make any purchases here, but I made note of it for later.

Finally, I paused briefly on the pedestrian bridge just to admire the bustle of everyday life on George Street.  :-)

I went ahead and took my nap, and I was having a difficult time convincing myself to get up, when the hotel's fire alarm went off.  That got me up in a hurry.  It turned out to be a false alarm, but we all had to evacuate anyways.  Standing outside in the winter air for 15 minutes will definitely wake you right up.  After we were allowed back inside, I had a cup of hot tea and did some personal work (bills, organizing, updating accounts, etc.).

I finally ventured back out for a late dinner at a burger bar I had seen earlier.  Burger bars seem to be a trendy thing in the Manchester area, and this place was obviously looking to cash in on the trend.  I had high hopes for a place called the "Urban Burger Bar"; however, I should know by now that I am always going to be underwhelmed by British beef.  The burger was OK, not great, and the service was wretched, so I won't be going back there anytime soon.  But that was the only tiny blemish in an otherwise perfect, perfectly lazy Saturday.

Thursday & Friday

Miss Mona Kitty arrived on schedule Thursday morning (Dec 4).  I was able to get her about two hours after flight arrival, just like they said.  She had obviously been well-cared for during her layover at Heathrow.  The crate and she were both clean, and her food was all gone, so I assume they fed it to her.  I dropped her off at the house and gave her fresh food and water.  She absolutely LOVES the new wet food I bought for her.  Of course she does; it's really expensive.  :-/

Some people have asked me why Mona couldn't travel with me.  The UK does not allow any animals to enter either in the passenger cabin or as checked baggage.  They only allow animals in as cargo.  Also, due to a change in FAA regulations about crew rest during long-haul flights, Delta converted the pet cargo space on all of their UK equipment to crew lounges.  So it's impossible to get any pets to the UK on a Delta flight.  I didn't know that when I booked my ATL-MAN flight.  Therefore, Mona had to fly British Airways with a connection through Heathrow.  She had to clear animal control at Heathrow, and BA requires a minimum 6 hour layover to make that happen, hence the extra day.  By the time she was cleared for entry, she had missed the last available cargo flight up to Manchester.  All very complicated, but she made it okay, and that's all that matters.

No sooner had I gotten Mona settled in then I had to take off for work.  She was pissed off when I left, but I didn't have a choice.  I made a quick stop back at the hotel to change into work clothes, since I was covered in cat hair at that point.  My first day at the plant was uneventful.  I got a desk.  I got a new work mobile phone.  I met some people.  The usual.  I worked late finishing up some things for my old job and had a chance to have a nice chat with the cleaning lady.  Her accent was difficult to understand at first, but I think I picked it up fairly well.  There was one funny moment when I thought she said she was going to duck-sit for her daughter.  I was wondering if her daughter had a pet duck, but then I realized she was saying 'dug' for dog.

I was pretty brain dead when I left work, so brain dead in fact, that I turned right out of the parking lot, into the right hand lane.  Fortunately, I realized my mistake quickly and backed up.  I looked up to see the security guard looking at me from across the street.  Embarrassing.  My other mishap on the way home was turning right in front of oncoming traffic, forgetting that they had the right-of-way.  I don't know how I escaped that one without an accident.  After visiting & feeding Mona, I went to eat dinner at a Thai restaurant called Phanthong.  It was absolutely wonderful - definitely some of the best Thai food I've ever had.  I started with Tod Man Kow Pord (sweet corn fritter served with cucumber, crushed peanut and sweet chili sauce), which was one of the best things I have ever eaten, seriously.  There were four fritters in the serving, so it was probably meant to be shared, but I ate every single one, and all of the sweet chili sauce, too.

My "WTF?" moment from Thursday came in the form of the bathroom toilet paper holder that was not a toilet paper holder.  Here is the fixture mounted next to the toilet in the WC on the ground floor.  Looks like it should somehow hold a roll of paper, right?

Wrong.  In fact, it is screwed in place firmly.  I haven't the foggiest idea what this fixture actually is supposed to be.  If it's a hand towel holder, mounting it next to the toilet is very strange.  So if anyone KNOWS what it's for or has any suggestions, please let me know.  I cannot figure it out.  It's too big to rest a roll of paper on top of it.

Friday morning, the jet lag hit me pretty hard, but I had to go to work, so I dragged myself out of bed reluctantly.  I swung by the house to feed Mona and then drove out to Runcorn.  Now, my GPS always routes me along the Daresbury Expressway (A558), which has been under construction and down to one reversing lane along one stretch since I was here in November.  This was my second time hitting the construction at a peak rush hour, and I sat for 15 minutes.  I determined that I *must* find an alternate route to avoid the construction.

(as an aside, the Daresbury Expressway is named for the adjacent village of Daresbury, the birthplace of Alice in Wonderland author Lewis Carroll.  There's a visitors' centre there that I should visit sometime.)

The security guard teased me about almost driving the wrong way the night before.  Thanks for rubbing it in, dude.  Work was very busy with a working lunch.  I barely had time to run up to the Canteen to grab something.  They always serve some foul smelling fish on Fridays, but they also had beef pasties, so I got a pasty covered in gravy.  Not at all healthy, but quite yummy.  You really can't screw up beef, potato and veg in a pastry crust.  All of the afternoon was spent conducting phone interviews for my replacement.  There were some great candidates, so hopefully my old position will get back-filled soon.

I used Google maps to try to find an alternate route to get me south to the M56 without having to get on the Daresbury Expressway.  At first, my GPS didn't like me, but after a while, it stopped telling me to make a u-turn and re-routed me the way I wanted to go.  I had to go a little bit west to hit the Central Expressway (A533), so it added mileage, but there was zero construction, so it saved me 10-15 minutes.  Feeling very pleased with myself, I was able to zoom home on the M56. The south Manchester traffic really seems to back up and get bad just after the J7 exit.  Fortunately, that's the Altrincham exit, so I got off the freeway just behind all of the brake lights of the traffic queues.  :-)

My first stop was the house to check in on and to feed Mona.  She continues to do just fine, but she's definitely lonely staying all by herself these past few days.  I feel really guilty, but then I remember that the only other option was to board her at a cattery for 3 nights, and I have to think she's better off at the house.

I tried to get Mona to take a selfie, but she's as bad as taking selfies as I am.

That photo is going to make me laugh for years.

Friday night I decided to venture over to the Altrincham Market.  They are doing "twilight" markets on Thursdays and Fridays during the Christmas season.  They also have the old Market House which was renovated into a kind of food court.  Here's a nice write-up of the scene:  Altrincham Market: Market House Reborn.

The place was packed!  I bought a mulled wine and browsed the stalls selling different arts & crafts.  There was an interesting selection of very unique products, many of them handmade.  There was a small stage where local musicians could get up and busk for tips, so we had live music to accompany the shopping.  Next, I squeezed into the Market House, which was absolutely mobbed.  I figured it had to work kind of like the Oktoberfest where you share tables, so I was able to find an open seat to get some dinner.  I ordered a pan-seared salmon with puy lentils and baby spinach from The Wolfhouse Kitchen.  It was PERFECT.  The salmon was absolutely luscious.  I paired a glass of French Sauvignon Blanc with it that I picked up from the Reserve market booth.  The wine was so good that I went back and bought a bottle to take home (Domaine de Bellevue Touraine Sauvignon Blanc 2013, Loire Valley).

The people I sat with were a very nice couple who had actually driven in from 20 miles away to come to the Altrincham Market on their date night.  The lady, Natalie, told me there was an adult women's social meetup group for the Altrincham/Hale area that I should join.  Her husband, Richard, told me that he thought I was brave to come over by myself.

I've had a couple of people tell me they think I'm brave, and although I appreciate the kind sentiment, I have to say I don't think I'm brave at all.  Bravery to me is when you don't want to do something, and you're scared to do something, but you do it anyway, either because duty compels to you or because it's the right thing to do.  Firefighters running into a burning building to try to save lives are brave.  Soldiers going into battle are brave.  Tugce Albayrak was brave.  I don't think I deserve that label for doing something I wanted to do.  Stress, anxiety, fear and any hiccups or issues along the way, I've always wanted to have an international job, and I'm lucky that I finally have the chance to do it.

Living in England, Day 1

I want to try to keep track of everything that happens with this adventure, and there is too much to capture in a Facebook status, so I'm going to try blogging it.

My flight arrived into MAN a few minutes early after an uneventful trans-Atlantic flight.  It felt weird explaining my situation to the border control officer, but she stamped my passport and let me in the country.  I went right to Hertz to pick up my rental car, and as soon as I saw what they'd assigned me, I had an "Aw, hell no!" moment.  It was a Ford Galaxy MPV - WAY too big for me to handle!  I had to go to the counter, but they were able to change me into a more reasonably sized Mercedes B180 diesel hatchback.  The car is fine, but it's a fuel-efficient engine that shuts off when you idle, and the first time it did that to me, I thought the car had stalled out.  After a day of driving around, I'm used to it.

I drove into Altrincham and after looping through the city once, was finally able to find a parking lot and get myself parked.  Waiting to cross Regent Road, a little old lady came up to me and said she would cross with me if I was going across.  I said I was, so without further ado, she linked her arm through mine, and I helped her navigate the curbs and the street.  Once across, she gave me a warm smile and said that was lovely and went on her way.

I went to the property management company's office at 11:00 AM to sign my tenancy agreement and pick up the keys to my new place.  The walk-through with the leasing agent afterwards was a disappointment.  The place was not "move in" ready; fortunately, the agent agreed with my assessment and said he would make sure everything got fixed.  So now we're working to a punch list of items that need to be addressed.  Good thing I'm not actually moving in until after Christmas!

I got to my hotel around 2:00 PM and was able to check in early for an extra £10.  I'm staying at a Travelodge for the next 4 nights, and it's a budget hotel with a £49/night rate, so I was totally comfortable paying that little extra to have access to a room sooner rather than later.  I chose this place just because it had the highest TripAdvisor ratings of all of the places in Altrincham.  It's not fancy, but it's clean and functional, and the staff are all super-friendly.

I broke my normal rule about not napping on the day of arrival and took an hour-long nap.  Then I took a really long, hot shower, and I felt 100% human again.  I headed out in the car again, this time hunting for and finally finding a small pet supply store that turned out to be right across the street from my new (rental) house.  The lady there was really nice and she helped me pick out new things for Mona Kitty.  Mona's regular brands of cat food and kitty litter don't exist in the UK, so we're going to be trying some new stuff that hopefully she'll like.  I'll find out tomorrow after she arrives.  I dropped the stuff off at the house and assembled her new scratching structure.  She has things from the USA coming over with my sea shipment, but I needed stuff now.

My next errand was my first shopping excursion.  I tried Sainsbury's this time.  I was able to pick up a few things I needed, like a 220-240V hair dryer with a British plug.  Sainsbury's was where I had my "WTF?" moment of the day when I saw an aisle labeled as "SQUASH".  I thought it was odd to have an entire grocery aisle dedicated to a plant, so of course, I had to walk down that aisle.  No, apparently in the UK, "squash" means concentrated fruit juice.  I don't think anything like it exists in the United States.  We Americans tend to like our fruit juices highly diluted with water and high fructose corn syrup.  ;-)  The SQUASH aisle was next to the "FIZZY DRINKS" aisle.  At least I could figure out what Fizzy Drinks meant without walking down the aisle.  Just what I need -- another word for pop/soda/coke.

My shopping excursion made me realize how hungry I was at this point.  I hadn't eaten anything since the breakfast served on the plane before landing.  I parked my car back at the Travelodge, carried up my purchases, and then headed out for food.  I chose a place listed in CAMRA's "Good Beer Guide 2015" (courtesy of Kristin P) that also had great reviews on Yelp -- PI, a small pub that serves savory Pieminister pies and mash (mashed potatoes).  The place was perfect!  Cozy, friendly, good beer selection, great mix of music and delicious pie.  I ordered the Chicken of Aragon, a free range British chicken, smoked bacon & tarragon pie.  SO YUMMY!  I washed it down with a pint of Stout No. 5 by Saltaire Brewery Ltd (Shipley, West Yorkshire).  Cheers!

And now I think I can safely go to bed with my internal body clock forcefully adjusted to GMT.  I'm looking forward to tomorrow morning when I'll be able to pick up Mona from her separate journey.

This picture is of the Altrincham town centre at night with their Christmas lights.

The Wound VAC

It's bizarre to me to think that 17 days have passed since I last blogged, 18 days since I had the necrotic flesh removed, 34 days since the mauling. At times it seems like the time has flown. At other times, I feel like I'm stuck in the Doldrums. The healing process has taken a lot out of me. My mood swings from tearful and sad to angry and frustrated to listless and apathetic. I'm tired all the time, and doing the littlest things wipes me out. I take naps and wake up feeling exhausted. I was told to eat a lot of protein, so I've been loading up on proteins, taking vitamins, and trying to eat lots of fresh, healthy food. Still, despite all the eating and being mostly sedentary, I've lost 4 pounds. I'm drinking a lot of water, but I still feel thirsty.

Up until this past Wednesday, the visiting nurses were coming in every day to check on me, check my vitals, and to irrigate and re-pack the wound. I had follow-up appointments with my surgeon July 1 and July 6 with additional debridements. Instead of three holes and a Swiss Cheese leg, I ended up with just one big mother-f*cking hole. As of July 7th, it was 7.7 cm long (3.03"), 3.4 cm wide (1.34") and 2.2 cm deep (0.87"). I developed a bacterial infection, which a culture swab showed to be three different types of bacteria -- Pseudomonas, Proteus mirabilis and something else from the Enterobacteriaceae family the nurse couldn't even pronounce. They started me on a 14-day course of 750 mg of Ciprofloxacin 2x/day last Friday morning (July 10), so I still have 6 more days to go with that. The Cipro gives me TERRIBLE heartburn and acid reflux and also makes me feel dizzy. At least the acid response I can control with Pepcid AC. I found as long as I take the Pepcid at least 15 minutes before the Cipro, I can stomach it.

Up until the past week, I was continuing to experience a lot of swelling and a lot of acute pain, and I still needed the Percocet to manage it. I don't know if it was the Cipro knocking out the infection or just the passage of time, but at least for the past 5 days, the pain has settled down to a dull roar, and I've been able to manage it without any Percocet, which is a good thing. I still get some occasional burning and stinging, but mostly now I'm getting a lot of itching and general tenderness in the area.

Anyways, on my last surgeon appointment July 13th, my doctor said I was finally ready for a wound VAC, which is another good thing. She'd told me all along the wound need to be "clean" before a VAC could be used, and the wound was finally clean. The rental VAC unit arrived via UPS Tuesday, and the visiting nurse installed it on Wednesday morning. VAC stands for Vacuum Assisted Closure. It's a medical device that provides controlled negative pressure to draw out fluids and to promote wound closing. It stays on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The pressure setting for my wound is 125 mm Hg (millimeters of Mercury), so it's not a whole lot of pressure when you think about it. A GranuFoam dressing (like a black sponge) gets stuffed into the wound hole, covered with a clear adhesive drape (like Saran wrap), and then sterile plastic tubing gets attached and connected to the VAC device and drainage canister. The GranuFoam is supposed to assist in the formation of new granulation tissue inside the wound.

I've heard from multiple people that I'll be amazed at how quickly my wound heals with the VAC, so I'm anxiously awaiting the miraculous results. The VAC is not painful, but I do feel the constant suction pressure. There's a presence on my leg I can't ignore. Carrying around the 3 pound VAC device with the drainage tube hanging all over the place is kind of hard to ignore as well. Then there's the occasional slurping sound it makes as it draws the drainage through the tube, like when you suck on a straw in a drink that's mostly empty (gross, I know).

The visiting nurse now comes only Monday, Wednesday and Friday to change the VAC dressing. The other days are just resting and recovering. I see my surgeon again this coming Monday, July 20, and I can't wait to hear what she says about the progress. All I care about right now is getting the hole in my leg closed so that I can go back to work and try to resume a normal life. I'll worry about the horrific scar I'm going to have later on.

My friends have been absolutely AMAZING, helping me out with rides, company, food, etc., and out-of-state family and friends have cheered me up with phone calls, get-well cards and care packages. :-)

On the legal front, at least my complaint against the dog owner finally got filed on July 14. It took a month. She has been charged under 3 P.S. § 459-502-A with the summary offense of harboring a dangerous dog. I got the notice of trial in the mail yesterday, and the dog owner's trial is set for August 26, another six weeks away. It's frustrating to me how long the process has taken.

Necrosis

Don't worry - I am NOT going to post pictures to this one! I have pictures for anyone who wants me to email them, but I don't want to be responsible for anyone passing out in their chair after being subjected to the photos without warning. Still, this post is not for anyone with a weak stomach.

I had (what felt like to me) a major set-back this Monday morning. On June 23rd, I'd had 5 of my 11 stitches taken out, and I'd finished up the 10-day course of Augmentin on June 24th. Things seemed to be going well, and the leg seemed to be healing. I returned to work, and I tried to return my life to normal, albeit with a limp. Over the course of the weekend, though, the lacerations on the top of my leg started to look worse and worse. There were still no signs of infection, but the skin around the edges started to look kind of a yellowish white and beyond that, the edges were bright pink and seemed inflamed. By the time I washed my leg on Sunday afternoon, I was really concerned. The yellowish white area seemed to have spread, some of the skin looked brown, and parts that once had seemed to be healing looked sunken and sickly. When my Doctor neighbor stopped by to check in on me Sunday night, she told me I needed to pull up my follow-up appointment and get in to see the surgeon right away on Monday. I'm glad I did.

The plastic surgeon squeezed me in Monday morning, and I learned that the whole area around the lacerations had become necrotic. Apparently, this is a fairly normal type of complication that can occur when there is so much underlying deep tissue trauma. Wounds heal from the inside out, and there was so much healing going on in the inside that the outer layer got starved of oxygen and just died. My doctor immediately began to open up the wounds and to cut away the necrotic tissue. After I saw the first piece of flesh get removed, I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I wasn't there. There was no local anesthetic needed: I couldn't feel a thing, since it was all dead. At some point, she did start to get down to living tissue, because I started to feel stinging and burning. She packed the wounds and told me I would need a Visiting Nurse to come each day to re-pack the wounds for me and to check progress. She said it would be at least 2 weeks before I'd begin to heal, possibly longer. I wouldn't look at my leg until they had everything packed and covered in a bandage. I was starting to lose it.

The nurse got me a tissue and let me sob for a bit, and then she told me what my leg looked like. She said I was going to have to see it Tuesday anyways, so the mental image gave me a chance to try to get my head around it. She said it looked like Swiss Cheese.

I made a follow-up appointment for Wednesday, and then headed back into town. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have been driving, as I was an emotional wreck and my leg now felt like it was on fire. I went in to the office to hand in paperwork to the Medical Department and to get some things. My boss's boss ran into me and was very sympathetic, which just set me off crying again. Nothing more mortifying than crying like a baby in front of your department's Director at the office. I was able to catch the bus home, and then I just had a complete and total melt-down.

Immediately after the mauling and in the subsequent 15 days, I never once cried or lost it. I missed the Detroit Tigers vs. Pirates baseball game I was supposed to go to, had to give up my Craft Beer School ticket, and had to give up my place whitewater rafting on a trip I'd been organizing since October 2008, but I never once felt sorry for myself. I tolerated acute physical pain, but I didn't cry. My leg looked like Hell, but I just called it the Frankenleg and figured it would heal. Monday morning was like a nasty kick in the gut, and all day Monday and even today, I've just felt overwhelmed, upset and tearful. Life likes to throw curve balls. This one was a Duesy. (how's that for a mixed metaphor?)

I'm on doctor's orders to stay at home until further notice, so I'm off work as of Monday and have initiated a short-term disability claim. I might be able to return to work before the STD kicks in, but the claim process takes time, so I figured I was better off getting it started now, and I can always cancel it later on if the healing happens faster than expected. Right now, I'm feeling down and pessimistic, and I just want to focus on healing, taking care of the Swiss Cheese Leg and avoiding any further complications. I have three holes in my leg with exposed flesh up to an inch deep, and I can't stop thinking about the possibility of a Staph infection. I suppose in that respect, it's a good thing I didn't need to be hospitalized.

I took a shower today, and following the doctor's instructions, I pulled yesterday's gauze out of the wounds and gave them a good washing with warm water and antibacterial soap. It was my first look at them. They're pretty damn gross. Basically, where there used to be two 2" long lacerations with 4 stitches each, there are now holes. Where there used to be a 1" long laceration with 1 stitch, there is now a hole. The holes are quite deep. It's amazing to me how deep human tissue goes. I always thought my Quads were in relatively decent shape, but there's a lot of skin and adipose tissue layered on top. That's a good thing, because if the dog had been able to tear into my muscle or bone instead, I would have been REALLY messed up.

The visiting nurse came right as I was getting out of the shower (perfect timing!), and my Doctor neighbor came over, too. My neighbor helped me take some new pictures of the wounds. The nurse checked my vitals and did a fresh packing. I thought maybe there would be something really complicated to it, but it's just saline and gauze. It's like Civil War wound technology, only cleaner. The nurse soaked the 2" gauze with saline, pulled it apart to its thinnest layer, and gently stuffed and tucked it into all the crevices of the wounds. She then put dry gauze on top and a large bandage on top of that. Again I felt the burning and stinging (I teased the nurse, "Are you sure that's saline and not lemon juice?"), but it subsided after about 15 minutes. I guess the wet pack keeps the wound moist and also draws the draining fluid out towards the dry gauze. Pulling out the used gauze each day helps to pull out dead tissue and to promote healing.

I've been told wounds heal from the inside out. The human body is truly a miracle. How do my individual cells know to queue up for filling in the wound? Somehow, they do. Over the next few weeks, new tissue will start to grow, and the holes will start to fill in. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that there aren't any further complications.

Munchie, the Hell-hound

Saturday, June 13, I got mauled by a dog. In 37 1/2 years of life, I've never had a serious injury (just some sprains, bumps, etc.), so this was pretty major for me. I'd gone over to my friend Nancy's house to help her with yard work. We were planning a big picnic party for June 27th, so this was to get the yard ready for the party. I'd dressed in jeans and a T-shirt I didn't care about, had my mug of hot coffee, and was ready to get dirty.

I arrived around 11:40 AM or so. There was a sign on the front door to come around back. I walked around to their backyard fence, and looked for Nancy. Two dogs were running around their large, fenced-in yard. Nancy had written on the sign that the dogs were friendly, but they didn't know me, so I waited outside the gate until Nancy came back outside to let me in. Nancy's dog, Seamus, who looked like a Setter mix, was a love; the kind of dog that thinks every new person is his new friend. I let him sniff me and lick me and check me out. Nancy explained that the second dog (I don't remember his name) belonged to her younger sister, Amy. Amy had recently moved back into the family home (apparently) due to personal and financial issues, and she had brought her two dogs with her. The second dog was definitely more excitable, and he was barking, but he seemed okay with me. The gate was loose, and though I thought I'd closed it properly, one of the dogs pushed it open, and both dogs went running out into the front yard. Nancy took off after them to retrieve them, leaving me in the back yard. That was when I noticed the third dog tied up next to a couple of trees. He wasn't barking at all, just standing there, watching things. He was a big dog, my guess maybe 100 to 125 lbs, and a mottled black color. Nancy finally got the two dogs back into the yard, closed the gate properly, and I asked her about the third dog. That was her sister's other dog, Munchie. I'd been in the back yard for about 15 to 20 minutes now, the other dogs were okay with me, so I asked Nancy if it'd be okay for me to go up and meet Munchie. I figured if I was going to be in the yard doing work all day, the dog should have a chance to get used to me, either that, or I needed to know to give him a wide berth. Nancy said it was okay, so we walked over slowly for me to meet the dog. He was standing, and his ears were perked forward, but his tail was wagging, and he wasn't barking, growling or snarling. There were none of the classic signs I would think of that would indicate an aggressive dog. His hackles weren't raised; he wasn't hunched back, nothing. I wasn't scared or nervous, and I talked to him as I walked up, saying something like, "Hi, Munchie!" or whatever. Nancy was right by my side. He let me approach him, and again, I saw no warning signs what-so-ever. I held out my right hand so that he could sniff it. He sniffed my hand, and then put his head down slightly, like he was sniffing my legs. There was a pause for a moment, and I swear to God, the dog was thinking about what he wanted to do.

He decided to lunge for me, biting my abdomen and fortunately getting mostly just my jeans button and zipper. It was totally without any warning and without any provocation. There was no food around. I hadn't touched the dog. Nancy was standing right by my side, and the dog had seen me interacting with the other dogs, so he knew I wasn't an intruder. There was no explanation for it. As he bit my abdomen, I registered that the dog was attacking me, and I started to pull back away as fast as I could. The dog let go of my jeans, and then he sunk his teeth into my upper left leg. I think at that point, I started to scream. He knocked me down, and fortunately, I fell backwards, away from him, and he was still tied up. He started to maul my leg, tearing and snarling. I remember I was screaming and hitting him in the head with my hands, trying to pull myself away from him. I have a couple of nicks on my right hand where I probably caught his teeth when I was hitting him. Meanwhile, Nancy was desperately trying to pull him off me, yelling at him and pulling on his collar. He let go for a second, and Nancy was able to pull him away as I rolled on the ground away from him. I think I took two or three rolls on the ground, then I got up and tried to hobble as far away from him as I could. I wigged out for a couple of seconds, just screaming "Oh my God! Oh my God!" at the top of my lungs, and then I started to calm down. I think that was when my brain was starting to release the Endorphins.

Nancy came running up to me in a panic and asked if I was all right, what she should do, etc. I was clutching my leg with both hands, and I pulled my right hand away from my inner thigh. My hand was covered in blood and a yellowish, oatmeal-looking substance that I realized was fat tissue torn out. It looked pretty bad, and I thought to myself, what if he hit my femoral artery?, so I asked Nancy to call 911 and to bring me a towel.

I think the most terrifying thing about that damn dog is that as soon as Nancy got him off me and I rolled away, he heeled. He didn't continue to bark or snarl. He just stood there quietly, at attention, watching me. If I had still been within his reach, I believe he would have attacked me again. This was NOT a dog-gone-wild kind of attack. He did not turn on Nancy. For the dog, it was a very controlled, deliberate attack. It was his reaction after the attack that makes me absolutely convinced that he was trained as an attack dog.

Having the dog stare at me was freaking me out, so I hobbled out to the front yard to get away from him. Once in the front yard, I asked Nancy to make sure the gate was closed, and then I laid down on my back, with the towel on top of my leg. Nancy was on the phone with 911, and we were both trying to apply pressure to my leg. By now, the Endorphins were working their magic -- my leg felt mostly numb, and I just felt very peaceful. It seemed like the paramedics arrived pretty quickly. They got my jeans cut off and assessed the wounds. I made an effort not to look, because I was feeling okay, and I didn't know how I'd react to seeing them. A police officer came, too, to take a report. The paramedics applied a temporary dressing, got me loaded up onto a stretcher, and put me in the ambulance to go to UPMC Passavant. They asked me if I had a preference on ERs, and I told them I had no idea where I was, so they should take me where ever they thought was best. My first ambulance ride! I got oxygen; they put some heart rate and BP monitors on me, and they put in an IV port. Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals had been the night before, so there were a lot of jokes about my being a Red Wings fan.

At the hospital, they cleaned out the wounds, trimmed away some loose flaps of skin, shot my leg full of Novocaine and gave me eleven stitches. The stitches were spaced far apart because the wounds were so deep, and they said they needed to be open in order to drain. The deep puncture wounds without tearing they left open. Once I was in the hospital, I dared a look at my leg, and I didn't pass out. It looked pretty bad, but there weren't any huge chucks of my leg missing or anything. There was a ton of paperwork to fill out, including a dog bite report they needed to do. They also gave me another tetanus/diphtheria shot, just in case. FINALLY, at the very end, they gave me a double-dose of Augmentin and a Percocet for the pain.

Nancy had called some other people who were planning to come over to help with the yard, to tell them not to come. A friend, John, lives very close to UPMC Passavant, so when he heard what had happened, he came to the hospital to be with me. Nancy was tied up with the police officer and was also an emotional wreck after what she had witnessed. John stayed with me at the hospital, drove me home, helped me get upstairs, went to the pharmacy to fill my prescriptions for the Augmentin and the Percocet, and he stayed with me all afternoon, all night and Sunday morning. He was SO awesome; he just took care of everything for me, including bringing me my pills and water when I needed them. Basically, the only thing I had to do was get up and go to the bathroom.

He also set up a website for me through Lotsa Helping Hands. I woke up, and he said, "Here, let me show you the website I set up for you." Lotsa Helping Hands is a free website that allows you to have a secure community to coordinate help efforts for any person in times of need. He'd set up an entire week of lunches, dinners, my ride to the plastic surgeon on Tuesday, and then he'd broadcast the website to all of our circle of friends to get them to sign up to help. I was also able to add my own help requests / tasks to the calendar as things came up, like a ride to another doctor's visit last Wednesday. Fifty-two of my incredibly-awesome-amazing-generous friends signed up to help, so many that I literally couldn't use all of the help that was offered. It was a huge relief to be taken care of so well after the injury, especially since I had so much trouble walking and was taking so much Percocet for the pain. Yeah, once the Endorphins and the Novocaine wore off, I was in a lot of acute pain. The best way I can think of to describe it is to imagine a 100 fire ants biting your leg.

There's more to tell, but that's probably enough for one night. Through all of this, I feel so lucky and so blessed with my friends, with my job, my very-understanding boss, my health care coverage, and with the fact that Munchie really only got my leg. The injuries could have been so much worse, especially if he'd been able to get at my face. So, in spite of everything, I have to feel grateful.

A drink I should never have again

I love margaritas, but I've been trying to watch my nutrition, and I think a margarita has to be about the worst drink in the world for you. Part of the problem is most places serve them in pint glasses, so it's a large drink. A large drink with a ton of sugar and sodium. My one margarita last night was about 750 calories and 2,000 mg of sodium. That's one entire day's need for sodium in a glass. Yuck. I wish I didn't know this. :-(

I should just stick to beer and wine.