One of my patients decided to do some crazy-ass, CT-requiring, major-yikes Stroke ReActivation Boogie today, but that got dealt with. I survived *that*.
I worked only a half day today and, on the way home, got gas. Nothing survivable about that, except that I also met the (excuse me just a minute; I must squee):
Sweetest, wiggliest, loose-skinnest, nommable-est, floppy-eared-est WUGGLE SNUGGLE pit bull named Max. He was in line at the counter when I went to pay for my fuel, and turned, opened his mouth and smiled, and perked his ears up when I said, "Hiya, Dollface!"
His owner looked gobsmacked that I would be interested in petting a pit bull, especially a pit bull owned by a tattooed, pierced, gangsta type. "I love pits," I said, "my nephew is a pit mix, and he's very sweet." "They can be," replied the gangsta, "but there are a lot of bad owners out there."
I then got my ear licked (in violation of my No Jaws Near The Face rule) as Gangsta and I discussed the merits of a bones-and-raw-food diet versus premium dried food. Who knew I would talk about Muenster versus IAMS with a guy for whom Tupac wasn't hard-core enough?
Then I got home. And the cats were glad to see me, and I took an hour-long nap in a pre-warmed bed with cats holding down the blankets.
Then my Max and I played Tackle The Human for a bit, and my neighbor brought me his award-winning veggie chili.
Tomorrow I might just, if you're all lucky, tell you about the *weirdest* stroke symptoms I have ever seen, courtesy of a patient who came in this morning.
In the meantime, I'm going back to bed. I have a hot water bottle, two cats, and the Zoaters waiting on me.