philosophy at age eight

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

Friday, April 22, 2011

April twentieth

April twentieth may go down in infamy for any ol' number of reasons, but one of them has got to be my sheepish performance in my last post. Wow, drama queen much, eh? Especially considering how the cortisone shot took all of one minute, and as the doctor slapped a bandaid over the injection site, like every other bad cliche, I said:

That's it? You're done?!

I thought he was just inserting the local anesthesia, and he was already pulling out (har har). In comparison to my previous experience -- be it time, pain, trauma and all around fuss -- it makes me want to check the prices to see what the other place was charging me. Let's see:

Last time:  There were four people hovering around me the entire time, working the machine, the needle, trying to calm me down (people watching?)...
This time:  There was my surgeon and his assistant in the room, but she never even approached us.

Last time:  The cat scan they kept pushing me into to check the angle of the injection was ancient and huge, taking up half the room.  
This time: The scan was the size of a dinner plate that just hovered over my hip the whole time. No stopping and starting, stopping and starting.

Last time:  They tied up my feet to keep them from twitching, which made me feel extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable in a room full of people.  
This time:  No bondage for me.

Last time:  The injection took about 20 minutes of slow inching deeper-and-deeper into my joint. 
This time:  The injection of both local anesthesia and cortisone took one minute, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.

I am... disgusted.

I got all seriously worked up. I got Valium, for gawd sakes. I was so freaked out about the idea of repeating that procedure that as soon as I stepped off the table, I burst into tears of sheer relief. That was really it?! 

And to top it all off, the nurse went and got me a boxed fruit juice drink. 

Did I get a boo boo?

 ~ * ~

So much for Valium. I have to wonder if they actually gave me a placebo, because I noticed no difference except perhaps a protracted morning fuzzy head. Every emotion you'd think Valium was supposed to innure you to, I experienced in full color that morning:  anxiety, fear, tears on several occasions, and actual rage. There's nothing like a good spot of rage to make you feel young again. You know the kind:  fire in the eyes, chest aching, drooling through clenched teeth and the top of your head shooting off towards Mars.

So I say, again; wtf is this Valium shit? Sounds like a conspiracy to me.

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