About 130 pounds ago, I used to joke that the only things about me that were thin were my hair and my singing voice.
Now, I need to modify that list.
My hair is still thin, although I think my glucosamine chondroitin regimen is improving the strength and durability of both my hair and nails; whether it's actually helping my joints, I'm not sure yet.
My singing voice is still thin.
And while I'm quite a few sizes larger than the "0" ideal for supermodels, I'm thin enough to sit in a "coach" airplane seat without asking for a seat belt extender.
But now, I need to add my blood to the list of things about me that can be described as "thin."
Let me say, right off the bat, that Xarelto beats Warfarin by a country mile. Unlike with Warfarin, I'm not required to get my blood drawn twice a week, and have my dosage changed almost that often -- nor am I required to limit my intake of foods rich in Vitamin K, such as salad greens and broccoli.
But blood thinner is blood thinner, and that's why I don't dare go out of my house without my "I Take Blood Thinner" bracelet.
The other night, I returned to my office after a marathon city committee meeting, and saw that my hand was covered with blood from a cut I didn't know I had.
If I scratch my mosquito bites too hard, I need a compress and a Band-Aid.
And even if my doctor OK'd my return to the pool, I wouldn't go in now, not when I have even one scab on my body that could bleed profusely if disturbed.
I know why I have to take blood thinner. I know it all too well.
People with atrial fibrillation have a greater risk of stroke, and blood thinner lessens the likelihood of blood pooling and clotting inside me, then going straight to my brain.
My superficial flesh wounds still scab over, but it takes more time.
And if, God forbid, I suffer an internal injury, I could be in real trouble, fast.
Blood thinner is no fun. But it might save my life.
Now, I need to modify that list.
My hair is still thin, although I think my glucosamine chondroitin regimen is improving the strength and durability of both my hair and nails; whether it's actually helping my joints, I'm not sure yet.
My singing voice is still thin.
And while I'm quite a few sizes larger than the "0" ideal for supermodels, I'm thin enough to sit in a "coach" airplane seat without asking for a seat belt extender.
But now, I need to add my blood to the list of things about me that can be described as "thin."
Let me say, right off the bat, that Xarelto beats Warfarin by a country mile. Unlike with Warfarin, I'm not required to get my blood drawn twice a week, and have my dosage changed almost that often -- nor am I required to limit my intake of foods rich in Vitamin K, such as salad greens and broccoli.
But blood thinner is blood thinner, and that's why I don't dare go out of my house without my "I Take Blood Thinner" bracelet.
The other night, I returned to my office after a marathon city committee meeting, and saw that my hand was covered with blood from a cut I didn't know I had.
If I scratch my mosquito bites too hard, I need a compress and a Band-Aid.
And even if my doctor OK'd my return to the pool, I wouldn't go in now, not when I have even one scab on my body that could bleed profusely if disturbed.
I know why I have to take blood thinner. I know it all too well.
People with atrial fibrillation have a greater risk of stroke, and blood thinner lessens the likelihood of blood pooling and clotting inside me, then going straight to my brain.
My superficial flesh wounds still scab over, but it takes more time.
And if, God forbid, I suffer an internal injury, I could be in real trouble, fast.
Blood thinner is no fun. But it might save my life.
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