Don't bring long fingernails to a nail clipper fight

Good morning all:

Time for a little observation/humor . . .

Many, many decisions are made here in the cancer wards that are meant to stave off the dangers of our existence. Here in the wards dedicated to the treatment of blood cancers that means that infection risks and bleeding risks are identified with the same wonton-ness that witches were identified in Salem.

A prime example is the decision made by the hospital to restrict those veritable fountains of germs, kids, from the hospital wards at all times. It used to be that it was just during the highly contagious flu season. However, every season is flu season now that H1N1 came on the scene, and now my visits with the kids are left to the waiting area outside the elevators. That is where I do my visiting when they come. But that is one that makes sense.

Others, I simply never thought of. When I wrote in an earlier post that if people feel they need to do or bring something they should think food, I was in the habit of taking prepared/cooked food and reheating it in the microwave. I did this thinking I was doing a good thing. The nurses advise me to avoid foodborne illness, and prepared food that sits out is just gathering microbes, etc. Well, as it turns out I was doing the wrong thing. I innocently discussed this practice with a nurse at one point and she told me of a rule that I didn't know I was violating! No reheating food in the microwave--and that applies to the hospital food (I never bothered reheating that, I just shovel it in and get it over with). The reason behind this is that unless you are heating the food to the point of cooking it a second time (yuck), all you are managing to do is to get the food back to the temperature where bacteria thrives. The thinking follows that you are actually better off to let the food cool as it will and eat it that way. Who knew?! Funny thing, I went to go pop some microwave popcorn last night and the microwave had been taken out of the common pantry. Maybe I ruined the microwaving party that had been raging for who knows how long in unit 5C.

Finally, some decisions are quite perplexing. Given the short notice that I received before being admitted one thing I overlooked was the length of my fingernails. They were getting a little long as of March 12 and now, by April 3 they are longer than I can ever remember them being. I don't know how you women type with these things. Anyway, I asked my nurse if there were any nail clippers on the ward so I could trim them down to a more appropriate length.

Admittedly, my reasons were mostly out of convenience. I spend a lot of time on the computer between continuing work responsibilities, blogging, and entertainment and these fingernails of mine just get in the way. But my request for nail clippers was rejected and safety was given as the reason. "We don't want you to accidently cut yourself and bleed", they said. Funny, they don't have any problem poking holes in me to extract bone marrow or spinal fluid and for a brief period of time I had 5 lumens on 2 separate lines in 2 separate incisions leading directly into the jugular vein in my neck--and they're worried about me bleeding out in some horrible nail clipper accident.

Seeing that I was up against the juggernaut of all hospital arguments, I argued that I'd been clipping my nails for quite some time and thought I was pretty handy with them, but that I never had nails this long. I continued that if I had an itch in the middle of the night I may well claw myself to ribbons. I could bleed out in a self inflicted scratch before anyone knew what ws happening! In that way I hoped to convince the nurse that the nail clippers were the lesser evil in this case. No dice.

So, when I do get home I will, of course, hug and kiss Marla and the kids and give the dog a scratch (carefully) behind the hears. But when all has settled down my thoughts will turn to the nail clippers. Perhaps then I will cheat death and trim them to a safe and proper length.

As always, thanks for reading.

--Russ.