Sorry about the long pause between blogs. It would appear that when unable to talk about f**d -- I am at a total loss for words. Not true!
I am here. I am back.
. . . And speaking of backs ~~ mine is killing me. I'd rather be in a good old fashioned fetal position, right now, than at the computer. But it's no use because even the ever trusty fetal position has failed my aches and pains. About the only position I've found some relieve in, is standing, butt against the wall, and one foot off the ground. Don't ask me how that helps - but it somehow does, just a little. Could it be, being off-balance keeps me in-balance?
(um. yeah. that sounds about right.)
Anyhoows . . . about a week or so ago I woke in so much pain, I mimed "emergency room - please" to nobody, rolled over to the speaker phone, and called Hubby who was already gone to work. (Well first, I accidentally pressed my speed-dialed QVC, (who by the way are not open 24 hours, like they sooo brag about - or maybe it's just the Suzanne Summers items that are closed certain hours ~ 'cause it crossed my mind, otherwise, I could have ordered a Suzanne Summers Kegel Exerciser while I had them on the line. Then, to go with my dieting, I'd be able to claim workout time, while still in bed recovering from my back pain?) (How many calories burned per Kegel, is it? Anybody know?) . . . ~~Anyways, I got Hubby on my second try.)
Apparently meetings at Anheuser-Busch, trump wife-in-pain emergency-room calls. Who knew? He assured me however, though, that had I had a baby in my canal - it would have been a different story, and he'd'a totally come home. (~and I guess I will choose to believe that. Because the alternative would have to mean he enjoys talking to men about beer, and what temperature makes a beermaking room perfect-o, --more than he does running home to lift me into a car because of a sore back, and pay co-pays at the hospital.)
Thankfully one son was still home. He was sick, and I had planned on bringing him to the doctors later in the morning. Instead I decided we'd do the early morning emergency room buddy-system route. They could call me Hop-a-long, and him Phlegm.
Yup. We know how to have a good time.
I happen to have a girlfriend that is a nurse in the emergency room, and it was nice to see her there. She hustled us through triage, and a different lady brought us back to our separate rooms.
Though my emergency room doctor's accent was so thick you could spread it on a bagel - I was pretty sure he told me there was nothing they could do for me - basically because I could still lift my toes. (note to self - next time in an emergency room for any reason, do not lift toes.) Had I carried my spine in on a clothes hanger, or pulled it in a wagon, or been chewing my dislodged disc like a stick of bubble gum, it would not have mattered to anybody there, -as my toes could still move.
I couldn't feel my calf, my thigh was in a permanent charlie-horse, toes and foot were numb, couldn't stand up straight, yodel, or get mascara on, ~~but none of that slowed anyone down one wit. Or in the international language of 'emergency-room- talk' ~~ 'next, please'.
At least my nurse felt sorry for me. Already hopped-up on other pills from home, she went to find me an Advil. I was waiting for something from the Doc, and also paperwork and my debit card from another worker. So I practiced my least painful contortionist twist, and waited for further directions. (Probably something like, 'Before you go miss, would you like to sign this card? It's for the poor lass down the hall. She can't lift her toes.')
As I lay writhing in pain - an obvious Nurse Nightingale popped her head in (I couldn't see the rest of her body, but she likely had a tail, warts, and a horn) and (honest truth), --barked, "leave, I need this room."
I'm not sure if she learned that at compassion school, or bible study, --but it was pretty lacking. I would have given her a piece of my mind - if I wasn't out of my mind in pain - and she hadn't taken off so fast. Of course I hadn't planned 'lounging' (if that's what you want to call it) there all day. And I was going to go join my son (who could move his toes too, but apparently was still going to get more attention than I did--), as soon as I was officially cleared. Nurse BarksALot made me so upset! Like I was in trouble, -or a bother, or something. Maybe I'll never get my fifteen minutes of fame, but at least give me my fifteen minutes of emergency room gurney!!
While I am so going to tattle on the wretched room clearer-outer, as soon as I find the energy, the moral of this story, or rather, what I'm really trying to say is, that for all that, basically, what did I get? . . . . the gift of paying 50 bucks to tell my girlfriend how much I weigh.
Good times.
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I'll tell you about my MRI in the next blog. But you better hold on to your seats, --it's going to be a bumpy claustrophobic ride.
2 comments:
Phew! I thought it would indeed end without food talk. I think you're splitting hairs when you still bring weight into the subject, though.
Sorry about your back. Nice visuals with the "chewing on your disk" and "bringing your spine in on a wagon".
You're real issue in the E.R. is that you spoke English and gave a real name. That spells doom for service. At least here in the south they'd pop their head in and say, "Honey, ya'll need to git". Is that nicer?
Listen, who cares about the buck naked, spread eagle thing? You've been there before. Have the surgeons fix your back, so you can move on to bigger and better things.
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