HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Monday, February 04, 2008Well That Was Fun
Two weeks after my first epidural steroid shot, which was actually very, very effective and essentially turned the volume way, way down on my pain, I went back today for my second. No fuck-ups this time. I hadn't taken any Advil in ages. I cut off food and water at 6 o'clock this morning.
Left work early, missing one period of teaching, walked the dogs, grabbed my MRI films, which I've had to cart all over the goddamn place lately. Fucking MRI films don't fit into backpacks or anything. I've got nowhere to put them, so they always end up riding precariously on my lap. They're a pain in the ass. I got to the place ridiculously early and they surprised the hell out of me by shooting me right in. I disrobed, put on their friggin' gown, cap and booties, and was ushered over to a hospital bed. Just like last time, only speedier. So I'm laying there and staff are whizzing by. I've got to pause for just a second here to say that, if you're going in for a procedure and you're expecting a hospital kind of thing and you go to one of these little out-patient surgical dealies, it's a real let-down. Perfectly nice waiting room and very personable staff, but it's, I'll be honest, a little dumpy when compared to an actual hospital. Anyway, the anesthesiologist comes over and it's not the guy I had last time. Actually, I don't recognize any of the staff from last time, but whatever. And she starts asking me the questions as she's having me sign stuff and she's putting the IV in my hand. At one point, I tell her I have a cold and she gets a bit concerned. Seems very worried about whether I've had a fever. I assure her that I haven't. She explains that, when giving a patient anesthesia, you want to be very careful that their breathing isn't going to get fucked up, so when someone's got a cold, you need to err on the side of caution. So she goes away and I'm lying there awhile, watching the guy across the room from me, who's apparently had some really awesome drugs pumped into him, because he's laughing his head off at a joke the nurse told five minutes ago. I'm waiting for my doc to show up and get this show on the road. I realize I showed up early, but it'd be really nice if we could get it over with. Eventually, my doctor shows up and confers with the nursing staff. They love to confer, those doctors. He comes over and asks about my cold. I tell him I'm a bit stuffy, got a slight cough, but nothing too hideous. He tells me we're going to have to reschedule. Something about if I were to get a fever tonight, they wouldn't know if it was from my cold or the procedure and we really can't do it today. For a few minutes, I'm a little peeved. I leave work early, schlep all the way down here, take my goddamn clothes off and get an IV shoved into my goddamn hand and now they don't want to take the extra ten minutes to actually do the fucking procedure? Then I relax a bit and remind myself that these guys were the ones that did the first procedure two weeks ago, which gave me relief from the pain that's been driving me fucking buggy for months and months. I'd be an utter douche if I was pissed. So here I am. I came home, made some food ('cause eight whole hours without eating is torture, I tell ya, torture!) and wiped away my tears. At least, I tell myself, in a world gone crazy, I can take comfort in the fact that the Hannah Montana 3-D concert was the highest grossing movie in the country this weekend. Truly, a blessing.
Comments:
Oh my word. I need to come back and read you!!!!
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Thanks for commenting on my dizzy silliness at Jonestown. As soon as I clicked on your blog and saw the tag line for hairshirt, I was hooked. And anyone that writes about wooden dishracks? You could be my new best friend. Dang it, MathMan requests my presence in bed now. Apparently, my futzing around at bedtime disturbs his beauty sleep. Regards, DCup
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