I now have Vicodin. And more muscle relaxers.
I saw Dr. Pain today. He's very trim and athletic looking. He poked around on my back.
"Does this hurt?"
No.
"Does this hurt?"
No.
"Does that hurt?"
Holy Christ on a crutch as Emma would say.
At one point he asked me to lie on my tummy on an exam table. This hurt so much that while he was poking me. ("Yes." "No." "Yes." Christ on the crapper!) I asked him if I was going to do anything else while on the table, because I knew I wasn't going to feel like getting up there again.
So here's the deal. I will have an MRI because my young cavalier will be sticking a long, thin, pointy needle stuffed with steroids into my back within the next thirty days. After that, I will be in pain for five or so days until things settled down. The good effects could last two days or the rest of my life.
But the usual route is that most people have this done three times and then the doctor starts talking about surgery. To do what, I don't know.
I spent the rest of the day moving carefully and more than once, sucked up air. I had a time or two when I had to prepare myself emotionally before I stood up.
Yeah, it hurts. But I have drugs.
Apparently, it is now legend all over work that the person at work who showed me the way to the hospital carried me up the hill on her back and dragged me through the emergency room doors herself and while I was leaving, I got hit by a truck.
Jeez. I thought this was supposed to be a "no-gossip" office.
3 comments:
Gotta love a no-gossip office. Feel better.
Oh, man, I hope the drugs are working, 'cause this sounds awful.
The gossip is a good thing. Might get you more sympathy and understanding (and that all-important leeway) than your own stoicism would. Encourage it.
I hope the meds allow your back to relax enough to shift itself back into alignment and stay there.
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