I think I’d mentioned a while back how I’d suffered a DVT.  It seems to be resolved, but as I’d had one years ago (with neither having been brought on by anything in particular), I’m now having to take warfarin, and it’ll likely be for life.

The joys of warfarin means regular checks for INR levels – ensuring my blog viscosity is kept under control.  This seems to be easier said than done as after a month or so of consistent normal readings, I’ve had a couple of seriously reduced readings, meaning it’s back to weekly checks.  And a slight change to dosage.

The prick tests are a bit of a faff to say the least.  Getting an appointment with our surgery nurse is harder than getting in with a doctor, usually because they have funny surgery times, and I want to get an early (well, if 9-9.30 is early) or late (the usual closing time is 12.30 at our surgery, unless it’s the one day they do afternoon surgery) appointment so I can try and work it round work.

Quite often I have to slot it in on a Friday afternoon at our partner surgery once I’ve picked up N from nursery.  As long as I stock up on snacks for him to bring, he’s happy enough nosying at what’s going on in the waiting room, or asking questions once we’ve been called in.

Thankfully he doesn’t seem too concerned about me having to have my finger pricked, although last week he was asking if I had a poorly finger.  Well, yes it hurts afterwards, but I’m not poorly, I just need a check.

After we say goodbye, we wander off out with him saying ‘Mummy, you’re better now?’

It’s all very sweet, but he seems convinced that I’m obviously ill having to go to the nurses I’m not sure what else I can tell him, as he obviously doesn’t understand that I’m just getting a test done and that I’m not actually ill.

Next thing he’ll be wanting playing doctors and nurses, getting out his Fisher Price doctor’s briefcase and offering to jab a needle in my finger.

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