File this under "now I know how the Czarevich must've felt" or "tell us something about yourself", or even "super powers you didn't know you had". And all of the other day I may have freaked other people the heck out. Because of clopidogrel. See, I have been taking clopidogrel (plavix) now for almost a year and a half, under doctor's orders. If you've had a coronary stent put in, clopidogrel prevents it from clotting over. Fairly standard, except that various things (timing, delays, pandemic) interfered with the weaning off after one full year.
While shaving I cut an ingrown hair bump. It was still bleeding eight hours later. Because, of course, one moves ones neck. Repeatedly.
So it looked like I was friends with a chain saw.
"Man combats EVIL by bleeding at it!"
Or:
"Neighborhood horrified by bio-hazard!"
Yeah, um. Normally when I nick myself while shaving I stick a scrap of bumwad on it, worst case scenario, a band aid.
Clopidogrel is an anti-platelet medication. Platelets are necessary for coagulation. And we'll have none of that. Which means I can bleed like topsy. Oh boy can I bleed!
No wonder people were looking at me funny.
Fortunately my apartment mate is not easily fazed, and has over the years come to expect eccentric and disturbing things from me. She isn't a queasy sort. and she ascribes much to my being a Caucasian, and therefore extremely likely to be unpredictable and odd.
She was born when her mom was nearly 50, so she's seen things.
The good thing is that the blood moved sideways, not down.
So I never got any on my clothes.
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