philosophy at age eight

“If you cannot control your peanut butter, you cannot expect to control your life.”
~ Judah-ism

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

on hands and knees in public restroom... even worse than you're imagining, you sicko

Little did I know, when I posted about the accident in which a truck hit me while I was walking across the crosswalk, that the medical shit flung at the fan-that-is-my-life would literally take over that life for years to come. 

Check me out:  it was just a funny story; I was all ho-ho, off-hand, laughing it off... I had no fucking clue. It's been a year and a half now since that crosswalk, and I'm still undergoing scary, painful medical procedures and am now facing the possibility of another surgery, on the opposite hip of the one I just had surgery on last June.  To find out just how "possible" that second surgery is, I had another arthrogram, on my left hip last Thursday.  And can I say...


shrine of germs
They force a huge needle into the hip socket from the front, and inject dye, pain relievers, etc. into the joint so they can get a really clear picture of what's going on in there (MRI).  Between:

1.) Me being needle-freaky (read:  ready to cry upon the sight of that big long needle), and;

2.) The doctor injecting extra local anesthesia to keep me from feeling the needle too much and freaking out (according to the doctor, he really didn't want me to cry like I was threatening to, because he said it'd make him cry, and all kinds of awkwardness and retardation would ensue)

 ... I ended up crouched over, with a hip full of various liquids, hugging a public toilet and trying not to puke 5 minutes after trying to stand up. 


When I came out of the bathroom -- because they just wouldn't stop knocking! Give a girl a chance to clean the smeared mascara from under her eyes after collapsing over a public toilet, why don't you!?? -- and reported that the nausea was fading, the nurse looks alarmed and says:

"Well, if you're feeling like fainting, I think we'd better get you a wheelchair!"

Who said anything about fainting?! If my husband had been there, he would have been rolling on the floor. My voice isn't overly loud like his, so the word I hear most is "What?" and "Huh?"  John characterizes my quiet voice as "booping".  I only get one "What?" from his direction before he looses patience and responds with:

"Boop, boop-boop-boop?"


Anyway, protestations aside, I ended up in a wheelchair.  And then I ended up developing a cold that very same night...hmmm, I wonder where I picked up that bug.  YUCK.

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