Twenty Three Hours
For the average person, it's not a big deal. Heck, I had a soundtrack of Tim Minchin keeping me company for most of the first six hours, and I didn't mind at all. My traveling companions were in another car and there were plans for rotating spots. I planned to do as I had on the drive up-prop up my leg when I wasn't driving.
Well, there were problems. The alignment on my van went wonky, and a left front shimmy that could have been something as simple as a weight falling of the tire or as bad as wheel bearings failing (or worse, a CV joint or tie rod issue, but I ruled those out since my mechanic had the car last week for a tune up and look at everything.)
So, I spent about 4.5 hours driving and stressing and got way behind the other vehicle. They offered to drive back up, but that wasn't a good idea, not with a dog and a toddler. I sent them ahead.
Stress and lack of ability to prop up My Stupid Leg is the recipe for something bad.
This one is on the same site as the October clot, but it is much bigger. I left a voice mail for Nurse M today, but she called me at work 20 minutes after I'd left (and my cell phone was sitting on my desk at home). When you spend 10 years in the patient/practitioner relationship, you get a good rapport. For us, it means we use a lot of gallows humor, even when I have a clot, we're laughing on the phone.
The tone was serious in that message. She didn't really say much, except that she'd called work too late to reach me, but would call me again in the morning. No 'don't worry about it, just do what you usually do.'
I can read between the lines.
I think I used up my last strike.