Well, today was interesting.
But let us first go back to Tuesday.
Ok, well wait, let us actually go back to August when I made an
appointment with my local Orthopedist to review the results of my shoulder MRI,
which I already knew showed two torn ligaments in my rotator cuff, one which
one a “near complete tear” because I hacked into the disk that held my radiology report.
*Inhaaaaaaaaaaale* The “first
available” appointment was for 6 weeks later.
Yippee Skippy! So that would make
it September 24th. However,
on Tuesday at exactly just a few minutes before I was to leave my awesome,
amazing, fabulous job (covering my posterior, just in case my boss stumbles onto this)
the Ortho desk lady calls me and says “ummm, Miss Law-ree” (I live in
Mississippi, but I’m a damn Yankee and have a damn Yankee name, so that is how
its pronounced down here), “Dr. McBusy had to leave the office and rush to the
hospital to perform a superahippoagealterectomy”, or some other such ridiculously
unpronounceable surgery, but what he was probably doing was an emergency round
of golf. But ok, so I’m obviously a
little put out by this stellar turn of events since I had just waited six weeks
in pure agony, but they did just move my appointment to the next day. I could handle that, except I’m a drama queen
and I just needed something to be uber dramatic about so I of course whined and
wailed about it for the rest of the day.
My family really appreciates and admires my dramatic side, so I indulge
them whenever possible. (You’re welcome
family).
Wednesday takes it sweet time getting here but somehow I
manage to survive long enough to make it to my new appointment, one entire,
whole day later. Phew! I only have to sit in the waiting room for
about an hour and fifteen minutes before I’m called back, but I have my handy
dandy Nook Book Reader with me (shameless plug) because I’ve been to this rodeo
before. As I’m immersed in a really good
smuttyfied horrorish murdery novel, (Those words will be in the soon to be
bestselling dictionary that I plan to write and have published by a famous
publishing house later this year. Be on
the lookout for it, titled, Words I Totally Made Up and How to Spell Them
Wrongishly, by Lorie) the nurse comes out into the waiting room and calls out
for Miss Law-ree. I really should be
used to people pronouncing it this way by now but I do briefly look around the
waiting room just to see if Key and Peele are hiding somewhere getting ready to
drop a "Substitute Teacher" skit right in the middle of this doctor’s
office. Alas, no such luck. So I gather up my 40 lbs. of crap that I
routinely carry around with me (ask me how I messed up my rotator cuff) and schlepped
off to the patient room to wait for Dr. McGonnabewaitingawhile, to join
me. As soon as I entered the patient
room I was immediately assaulted by the lovely aroma of rectal methane leakage. Holy Anus Symphony, Batman! Who the hell was in this room before
me???? I looked at the nurse fully
expecting her to apologize for the rancid smell in this room, but much to my
surprise she totally pulled off the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen
because she actually appeared, to the naked eye, to be completely oblivious of anything
odoriferously offensive. Well played,
Nurse Ratched . Well played indeed. Okay, well if Nurse Ratched can pull off the “I
don’t smell a thing” card, I am certainly not going to fold! So I pretended to not smell anything putridly
rancid either, although my eyes were watering and my nose was running a bit and
I was fighting the insanely vigorous urge to cough.
Up to this point I may not have mentioned the Kinesio Tape. What is Kinesio Tape ? I’m glad you asked. Kineso Tape is a rumbustious (That’s a real
word. I swear! It means really strong. Google
it. ) elasticy (don’t Google that word
until my dictionary comes out) tape that you put all over your wounded body
part, in this case; my shoulder, and it provides some stability to weak and
torn ligaments and muscles. Okay, so you
don’t put it “all over” your wounded body part, there is actually a way to
properly tape it, but for the purpose of this story we’ll just say it was all
over my shoulder. And I already
mentioned it was super, whamidine, maama jaama strong tape. Like sticky strong. Like rip off 17 layers of skin and expose the
grody stuff under your skin strong, if you don’t soak it off in a nice warm
bubbly tub first. And I may not have
mentioned yet that I had dear husband, Mark put a fresh coating of this fly
paper armor tape on my shoulder just that very morning. Yup, six whole
pieces. Six.
Now back the noxious room with Nurse Rached. She opens her mouth to speak and I know she
has to be loath to actually allow the fumes in that room to enter her mouth
while she speaks, but she’s got some brass, because she does so without making
any expression changes at all. I’m
wondering if my mettle might be out gunned here. She says that we are going to go take some x-rays
and I’m wondering if by “we” she means I get to run the x-ray equipment. Nah, you probably need a permit or a license
or something to do that. Then she
informs me that my precious tape needs to be removed first. Aw hell.
Then she informs me that she will be removing it for me. Well….. um….. okay, I suppose. I mean, she’s a nurse right? They are trained to be compassionate to the
patient. Right? Yeah, I’m pretty sure she took the cliff
notes version of the “Nursing with Compassion” class at Nursing School. She grabbed the first piece and ripped it off
like she was trying to give me a Brazilian wax job on my shoulder. I responded to that with a “wooo”. She said “Oh did that hurt”? As she dug her nails under the second piece
and flayed the flabby part of my upper arm like a trout. At this point I had opened my mouth wider to “Wooo”
again but that booty perfume snuck into my mouth and I promptly closed it
again, hence I “Wooooo” and then “uuurrpshhhhh” all over Nurse Ratched’s Crocs. So I just sat there with my hands politely
crossed in my lap and didn’t open my pie hole again while she extracted all the
hair from my arm and I suspect several layers of my epidermis as well. Then she said “here” and handed me the ball
of crumpled tape with all of my shoulder hair and some lumps of pink skin
rolled in for good measure and wordlessly left the room. Hmm. I
wonder if I was supposed to follow her so “we” could take an x-ray. A moment later she reappeared at the door
and stared at me like I had a penis growing out of my forehead. I guess I was supposed to follow her when she
left the first time. I looked at her and
said “Hi”. She didn’t look amused, so I
got up and followed her this time. One
of the little voices in my head echoed “it’s not good to piss off the medical
professionals who are in charge of your health and well-being”. I wonder if Nurse Ratched reads my blog.
The x-rays went fairly uneventfully. They indeed did not need my help running the
x-ray equipment. I asked. Before I knew it I was back in the skunk room
awaiting Dr. McKeepwaiting. So I read
some more of my e-book, carefully keeping my mouth closed to the odor when a
thought occurred to me. I wonder if Dr.
McLigament will walk into this room and think that *I* am responsible for this
nuclear landfill grade aroma? I did not
like that thought, so I took it upon myself to open the door and allow a little
fresh air to seep in. No sooner had I sat
back down, did Nurse Ratched storm to the open door and promptly snap it closed
again. Well hell. Maybe I would just blame Dr. McBone-Dude for
the perfume in the room. Yeah, I wonder
if I have the stones to clamp my hand over my mouth and nose, when he walked in
and say “ohmagawd, did you have red beans and rice for lunch”? And then that pesky little voice in my head
reminded me again “Best not to piss off the dude who may, someday soon, have a
scalpel aimed at your unconscious body”. Eh, better not I spose’.
Dr. McScapel-Weilder finally made an appearance in the poopy
room not long after I mentally vetoed playing the blame game with him. He asked me a few relevant questions and made
me do “the wave” a few times and then twisted, prodded, poked, contorted and
tied my arm in a pretty bow. (This is why he makes the big bucks) He then pronounced that I still had good
range of motion. Goody, but my arm is
still numb from the shoulder down to the tips of my fingers, so he declares
that the real problem may in fact, be a disk in my neck. That is an outstanding bit of news right
there. But wait, it gets better. Do you think Dr. McPain wants to do an x-ray
of my neck? Naw. How about a CT Scan? Nope.
An MRI perhaps? Negative. No Dr. McSharps is a fan of process of
elimination. This is always good
news. He would like to do a Cortisone
and Steroid injection into the bursa between the Humeral bone head and the
Coracoid process, right under the Acromioclavicular joint. Oh well sure.
I’d love it if you stuck a needle into the tenderest bit of torn
ligament in my shoulder. Why don’t we do
two while we’re at it? A matching pair
would be nice don’t you think?
I did ask the doctor if I was going to cry because of this
and if I did, do I get a lollipop afterward.
He snickered a bit and said that is sounded more painful than it really
was. I really hoped that he was
snickering at me for being a goober and not because he just told a big ol’
whopper to the gullible patient. Doc
left because apparently he doesn’t do his own dirty work and he sent in Dr.
Doogie, his Physician’s assistant. I was
feeling a little insecure about Dr. McSnicker’s assurances so I asked Dr.
Howser if *he* thought I would need a lollipop after this injection and he answered
my question with a question. (Dontcha
love that?) He asked if I’d ever had one
before. I said No. He then assured me that THIS one would be the
best one then. Okay, so in other words,
this one might hurt like a mofo, but the next time I get one, it’ll rate higher
than 40 bullet ant stings on Schmit’s Sting Pain index? That really didn’t have the sedative effect
on me that I think Dr. Doogie was going for.
Perhaps he should read my blog.
Dr. Howser gave me some last minute tips on post injection
shoulder care. “Don’t use your right arm
for a few days. The first two or three days, your pain should get worse, but
then you should get some relief. If not,
then it means the injection didn’t work. If anything turns black and falls off,
call and make an appointment to come back and see us”. He didn’t actually say that last part, I just
added it to be dramatic. Doogie cleaned
my shoulder with some alcohol (he didn’t have the kind you drink, I asked) and
then some betadine. Then took a fine point sharpie out of his pocket and
proceeded to draw a scapular map on my shoulder that would make the fussiest cartographer
proud. I asked if he was going to make
an “X marks the spot” addition to the map.
He wasn’t, but he would if I really wanted him to. Well, no.
I don’t want to be high maintenance but shouldn’t any good map have a
red “X marks the spot” spot on it?? Ok,
well maybe I was stalling.
And then he removed the syringe from his lab coat pocket. When he popped off the protective cover, one
of the more annoying voices in my head said “Dum Dum Dum Duuuuuummm”. That voice really grates on my nerves. But the voice was right. The needle looked like a Sonic Route 44
drinking straw. I wondered if he was
going to inject me with a blow dart through that straw, but no. That was the actual needle. I
felt beads of sweat start rolling down my neck and I prayed they wouldn’t cause
Dr. Jeremy’s map to run down my back and that straw sized needle would somehow
end up jabbed into my chubby ass. Oh
Lord, the places where my mind wanders when I’m moderately panicked. Dr. Howser explained that, more than pain, I would
actually feel a lot of pressure. Okay,
well that doesn’t sound horrible, I spose’.
Yeah right. Doogie proceeded to push that needle in
through my right shoulder, but I swear it came out in my spleen. Holy Paralytic Extremities, Batman! My arm felt like it weighed 73 pounds and had
Black Mamba venom coursing through it causing it to rot off at warp speed. (pretty
image eh?) I’m fairly certain that Doogie’s needle hit quite a few odd nerves
during it journey to my spleen because my left eye snapped shut of its own
accord, both of my pinky toes curled under, my one open eye was watching a
fireworks show that was being projected on the paper towel dispenser, I thought
I could feel a band of spiders marching up and down my back while my ears
twitched out a rhythm that made me think of playing “Chopsticks” on the piano
as a kid, and I kept hearing an odd noise that sounded a bit like a wounded
cat. But after a few minutes I realized
that the cat noise was coming from me, so strike that one.
Four hours later, Dr. Doogie said, “All done, now that wasn’t
too bad was it”? Well no, not if you are
comparing it to a six hour root canal with no Novocain. Or maybe having an ingrown toe nail removed
with a pair of rusty pliers. Then no, no
it wasn’t that bad. But if you are
comparing it to an Ice Cream cone from Ben and Jerry’s, then it sucked out
loud. But then again, I am a grown up
(mostly) so aside from the mewling cat noise that involuntarily escaped from my
throat, I think I handled it very well. However,
I was making plans to walk calmly to my car and roll up the windows, turn the
radio up full blast and belt out a fourteen minutes string of swear words I
learned from my husband’s twenty years of service in the Navy and all the
swabby sailors whom we socialized with.
I’ll leave the details of that out in case my Mom and Dad read
this.
The next few days should be fun. Stay tuned.
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