Saturday, September 19, 2009

The Week in Medicine


That is the approximate sound going on in my head and quite possibly out loud every time I try to move my arm.

Yesterday brought another punch to my orthopedic bingo card. I already have both knees and a shoulder, so with the free spot in the middle, my new blot on "right elbow" has me thisclose to bingo and, possibly, a free arthroscopy or whatever surgeons give away when you complete a line.

Hmm, he said. If ice and a band and anti-inflammatories aren't doing anything for your tendonitis, you're going to need a shot, and it's gonna hurt. Fine, I said, it can't hurt any more than it already does. Uh huh. I should have known I was in for it when he brought in a canister I usually associate with freezing weird shit off of sun-damaged skin. I'm going to freeze your arm, he said, but it's still going to hurt. Go for it. Seriously. Bring it.

Okay, magic freeze spray applied, needle in, no problem. Now the burn, he said. No problem, I thought for the splittest of seconds, since I'd already had this done in a knee once and shoulder twice. Now the burn? Burn, my ass. More like now the 300-pound guy leaning with all his weight on a red-hot giant nail jabbing directly into your ulnar epiphysis. Hrrrraaaarrrgghgghghhmmmm, I said. Sorry, he said, you're going to be cursing me tonight.

He was off by about twelve hours. Last night it felt great. Then I woke up this morning swearing bones were grinding together every time I moved. A friend joined me at Home Depot. You're radiating pain, she said. At home she rigged a sling with an ace bandage and left me staring at football in deep amazement at the difference suddenly being able to breathe again made.

Of course, two hours later it hurt even more for not having moved in, well, two hours. Now I'm clutching frozen peas and wondering why this seemed like a good idea. He said it would take a couple of days for it to feel better and get back to the weight room. Wow. Considering I am yelping every time I move, that seems optimistic. Jesus. This is what I get for trying to keep up with my steroid-and-other-supplements-addled brother. I am too old for this shit.

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