It’s probably no coincidence that the optimism I felt yesterday has evaporated today.  Yesterday, I took my  usual morning walk with my next door neighbor, the sun was shining, and I had a meeting with my literacy student. Exercise with enjoyable company, time outside, and doing for someone besides myself guarantee a good day. Special bonus: when I stepped onto my front porch barefoot yesterday afternoon, the concrete was warm beneath my feet. You don’t fully appreciate that sensation unless it comes as a surprise in the middle of February.

Today is a different story. No walk, and it’s dark and drizzling. I am vaguely guilty over my relief at having nowhere I need to be. I hunkered down and did what needed to be done in hopes of moving my job search forward, but dragged along with me a gloomy sense that it was an empty endeavor. I opened and closed several drafts of posts to this blog without enthusiasm.

Every few minutes I look out my window, focusing on  a few daffodils which provide a spot of glowing yellow against the relentless brown and gray. I know that the days are getting longer and that spring is coming. I know that sooner or later, I will find something worthwhile to do. It’s just easier to remember when the sun is out.

As promised last week, I have taken the following steps:

I have called (thinking that simply emailing was too passive) an office devoted to an aspect of criminal defense and offered my services as a volunteer.  I was immediately directed to email my inquiry, so I did.

I re-visited the website of a different, but related office that I had called last summer. I noted that the guy who did not return my call has been replaced by someone else. (I know it wasn’t because he blew me off, but I can pretend.) I also saw that they were requesting email applications from volunteers, so I shot off an email, also noting that I was interested in additional information regarding becoming certified as a Mitigation Specialist. I will attempt to call their current M.S. next week if I get no response from the email.

I attached an abbreviated form of my resume to both of these inquiries.

I also called the Carolina Dispute Settlement Services to request information on the training they offer to become certified as a Mediator. (This is something I should have done ages ago- I became interested in mediation while I was working in insurance, but somehow fell under the false assumption that a J.D was required to become certified. I have considered and abandoned the idea of law school too many times to count. )

Follow up to these inquiries is scheduled for next Tuesday.

I’ve been dragging my feet about writing this, because I am still deeply aggrieved by the experience, but the show, as they say, must go on:

This will not be about the nosebleed itself as much as the decision making process, and the administration of health care these days.

Our story resumes as I stand outside of the closest urgent care office. The doors have been locked (early) and there are people visible through the windows, all studiously avoiding looking out the window,  where I am pointing to my nose, which is by now the size of a small potato, and covered in gore. I return to the passenger side of my car in defeat. As The Kid and I discuss our next move, a man exits the office, walking right past us. I ask him whether there is any other open facility nearby. “Sorry,” he says, just the emergency room. He appears to be completely unfazed by my face.

In my thinking, emergency rooms are for, I don’t know, emergencies. Like if you are maybe on the verge of death. As uncomfortable as I was, I was pretty sure I wasn’t anywhere near Death’s door- just Grossed Out’s driveway. I directed The Kid to take me home. She had the presence of mind to stop at a drugstore for some surgical gauze on the way. My plan was to get through the night and present myself at the urgent care office again in the morning if necessary. I positioned myself on the family room couch, tissues and gauze at hand.

It was a long night. I am sure that my nosebleed was made infinitely worse by the raging head cold. I did not sleep. It was not pretty. I ambushed my husband at 6:30 the next morning. “The urgent care office opens at 7:00,” I said, thrusting a cup of coffee in his general direction. Though by no means “a morning guy” he was ready to roll. Back to the urgent care we went. They took me second.

The nurse who took my vitals did not register any alarm at my face, but the first doctor who saw me did. “Let me get someone else,” she said, wide-eyed. She returned with a second doc. I repeated my story for the third time. “That’s not what I am seeing here,” Doctor #2 said when I was finished. I briefly wondered what he was suggesting. “That (gesturing at my nose) could be tissue. I don’t know how much blood is in there. I’m not comfortable treating you here; you should go to an E.R. or see an ENT specialist.” Okay, now I was alarmed. In retrospect, I realized that he should have been reassured by the fact that I was ambulatory and oriented, but I’d been up for about 48 hours, and seeping blood for about 14 of them, so off to the emergency room we went.

The personnel at the hospital were kind and comforting, but they did nothing that couldn’t have been done in a doctor’s office. In fact, they did next to nothing that I could not have done at home, had I known what to do.

The 500$ comes in because we had not met our annual deductible; we are still waiting for the 20% of the total bill from the visit. I am left wondering how I seemed to make the wrong decision at every turn in the event. But now, I am confident of my ability to deal with any nosebleed I meet, any time, anywhere, and really ready to write about something, anything, else.

My doctor called it “a nasty little virus.” Sure it was, like Cujo was a nasty little house pet. A week ago, I woke up with that “uh-oh” feeling: dry eyes, scratchy throat. The kid had been sick, and I jokingly accused her of giving me her disease. (She herds children for a living, so she has access to all of the best bugs.) But if it was her disease, I took it and made it my own.

On Saturday morning, I was able to make it to a meeting at my new job,but by the afternoon I was in bed. Sunday was worse.  I was certain that my throat would simply swell shut, which might have been acceptable if it would stop the sensation that said throat was being shredded by cheese graters. I couldn’t breathe; I was trying not to swallow because it hurt so much when I did. I ached all over. I couldn’t stop coughing. My neck was swollen and my ears were burning. Worst of all, I couldn’t talk comfortably. But then again, I didn’t even want to.

Monday I was at the doctor’s office. Although relieved to be able to rule out Strep throat and tonsillitis, I left feeling affronted by the diagnosis and treatment: how could something that didn’t even have its own name be making me so miserable? And “give it a week?” Of this? I did not want a week of this. I was already feeling guilty about so many things: staying in bed all day, barely talking to my family, getting nothing done- not even wanting to read my library books.

Tuesday was as bad as Monday, and I had an episode of coughing so severe I wondered if I might vomit or pass out. I was constantly blowing my nose. At night, I would doze off, wake up, cough and/or blow my nose and try to go back to sleep. The digital clock across the room allowed me to track intervals ranging from 20 to 40 minutes; it helped pass the time.

Wednesday morning, I had  a little nosebleed. It lasted a bit longer than it should have, because given a situation demanding an either/or answer (in this case- tilt head back or tilt head forward), I am inclined to make the wrong call.  I attributed it to the wear and tear on my nose from all that blowing and coughing, and to the fact that I had taken several aspirin over the past few days in hope of relieving the swelling and pain. I made a mental note to lay off the aspirin.

Overall, I was starting to feel better, but frustrated. I got some laundry done, and caught up with a little more housework. I still couldn’t talk normally, and had to cancel two literacy classes. I really hated that. I was supposed to start my job the next day. I knew I was in no position to deal with the public, so made that dreaded call.

I spent the afternoon trying to get my attitude in order. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself. I couldn’t focus on the negative, and the time wasted. I searched for some lesson or benefit from this time. The Kid came home from work, and for the first time in days I was able to enjoy just hanging around with her, catching up and talking about the promotion she was applying for at work. Around 6 p.m., the second nosebleed started. The Kid, who is Red Cross certified (“I’ll save the crap out of you”) corrected my head tilting. We continued to visit, me changing my compresses from time to time. Eventually she got concerned: “This isn’t supposed to take so long.” I wasn’t really worried; the nosebleed may have seemed relentless, but it was definitely low volume- more of an annoyance than anything else, considering how much worse I’d been feeling in the last couple of days.

Sometimes it’s hard to judge what is “normal.” In the abstract, I can be somewhat morbid and hypochondriacal. In practice, however, I strive for rationality and stoicism.  I don’t like to overreact. I mention this to explain why it took three hours or so to decide to bother my neighbor and walking buddy, who is a nurse. She got a look at me, and sat with me for a while before saying that I should probably head to the urgent care office, just to be safe.

We got there to find the doors locked, but people still inside. We knocked politely; nothing. I walked around to another window, trying to get someone to look at my face. (At this point, I was looking a little like a losing middle weight contender.) We tried to call, with the predictable result.  You know when you know that you are being ignored? I hate that. I especially hate it when, after checking my phone later, I realized that they had closed early.

Next: The 500$ Nosebleed