Monday's doctor appointment

I'd forgotten to write about this past Monday's visit to my local doctor. 

I arrived at the internal-medicine clinic, and the ladies behind the counter all chirped that I'd lost a lot of weight. I smiled, nodded, and didn't tell them I'd been in the hospital for a heart attack. After signing in, I was told to wait a bit, and while I'd mentally prepared a whole spiel about how I didn't need this or that test (BP, blood work, etc.) because the hospital was monitoring me from afar, it turns out I needn't have worried. (South Korea has the same right to refuse treatment that we have in the States if you're of sound mind and in a condition to refuse treatment.) My name was called (it's always "Kevin-nim!" or "Kim Kevin-nim!" with the nim being an honorific suffix normally attached to either a person's full name or to a title); I went in and explained to the doc what had happened. He bade me sit, and I handed over my cell phone to show him my latest foot-saga photos. He asked whether the pics were recent; I said the last one had been taken that very morning.  He then had me take off my shoe, sock, and dressings so he could look more closely at the problem. As he looked, I told him about my self-care procedure, which had consisted of one anticoagulant-powder treatment (that didn't seem to have worked given all the weeping from the raw skin), constant re-bandaging, and regular salt baths with sea salt since I'd run out of Epsom salt (reordered over the weekend, but it didn't arrive until yesterday). He nodded as he listened and generally thought I'd done a good job with myself (there was one complaint, though, which I'll mention later). He then told me he'd re-dress the raw skin, but I'd have to wait a minute, so I went back out and sat in the waiting room until I was called to a back room by one of the nurses. 

I had taken off my shoe, socks, and previous dressing beforehand, so it was just a matter of sitting on a gurney with my foot on what looked like a small dog's pee pad for potty training. The nurse laid out a tray with metal containers and rolls of gauze; she poured out small quantities of peroxide and iodine for the doctor; I made some small talk with the nurse about my Skechers; she lifted one of her feet to show she was wearing Skechers, too. While my first experience with Skechers had gone well last year, this year's pair didn't fit as nicely, and I think that that was one cause of a lot of my problems. The doc came in, and thus began the somewhat painful disinfection procedure and my re-bandaging. The doc first picked out as much of the gelatinized blood-stopper powder as he could, telling me not to use it again because its presence could impede healing. Hey, thanks, Boss, for suggesting the powder! I can't really blame my boss, though; I'm the one who chose to follow his advice, which made sense at the time. The doc finished plucking out the small chunks of gel and picked up a peroxide-soaked roll of gauze, which he dragged over the raw skin of my long-ago-popped blister. Earlier, when he'd asked me whether anything about the raw skin hurt, I'd said no, but this peroxide wash hurt enough to get my attention. I didn't flinch or cry out, but I had a slight rictus of pain on my face. The iodine came next and hurt about as much, and I comforted myself by thinking about how the chemicals were doing a thorough job of disinfecting the skin's surface. Together, the doc and the nurse re-bandaged me (I threw away the now-useless dressings I had removed earlier); I was prescribed some antibiotics (I'd originally thought it was three weeks' worth, but it was more like a week's worth, so I might have to go back), and that was that. I paid my small fee (not even five US dollars) and left.

My Epsom salt finally arrived yesterday, as I said. Before it had arrived, I scanned the Web for Epsom-salt alternatives, and one suggestion was sea salt, which I have in scads. So since before I went to the clinic up until yesterday, I've been giving my right foot a sea-salt bath twice a day. When I switched over to Epsom salt, though, I put in roughly the same amount (about 2-3 heaping tablespoonfuls) into the water, which proved to be very painful; I'd forgotten how much more of a concentrated punch Epsom salt delivers. Tonight, I'll reduce the amount to a single heaping tablespoon, and if that's too much, well... I'll either call myself a pussy and keep the one-tablespoon amount or I'll be a true pussy and lower the amount to a single teaspoon. Frankly, I'd rather return to sea-salt baths since those weren't painful at all.

Since I began taking the antibiotics a couple days ago (3 times a day), my foot's swelling has gone down. My skin is also visibly healing: I can see new growth taking over the raw skin. It's also getting more comfortable to walk: my limp is still there but less pronounced. In total, I walk only a few minutes per day, so what I really need to do is alternative exercises, e.g., getting back into kettlebell and heavy clubs, and maybe also doing the stairs since that's only a maximum of 10-12 minutes as opposed to 2-3 hours spent walking out to the Han River and back. Plus, walking upstairs is much less abusive than walking downstairs. The foot's nowhere near ready for prime time yet, but I'm pleased at the rate it's healing.

So there we are: that's how the clinic visit went. I'd thought about visiting the skin clinic across the hall from my office, but my boss said he thought the skin clinic dealt more with cosmetic stuff like skin lesions on the face and neck, not foot damage caused by distance walking. A shame. I've long wanted to visit that clinic. I wonder whether they screen for skin cancer. I never get checked after my long walks, and I rely on a hat and long sleeves for protection, often resulting in my face, hands, and wrists getting at least somewhat burned. I'm pretty sure I don't have skin cancer, but apparently, some types, like basal-cell carcinoma, can take years to manifest. Other types grow much faster. Anyway, I should get checked. And while I'm at it, I need to get my insides checked for colon cancer; I'm past due for that checkup. Meanwhile, I have a dental appointment coming up soon to receive a crown and probably some filling for two of my lower molars. Lovely. Getting old means falling apart.