Unmitigated

You Can Uncross Now...It's Making You Walk Funny

So. Had the procedure done today. If you're not up to speed on what I'm dealing with, I am currently living with sacroiliitis, which is, medically speaking, an inflammation of my ass. And you thought I was just eating too many girl scout cookies!

Today, the charming and funny Dr. R. inserted needles into my behind at the left sacroiliac joint and injected steroid and anesthetic medications. So, it still hurts, but different. Like I just had an enormous needle in my rear end. That should fade after a day or two, then we'll see how well it works.

I had a typical moment this morning in the shower, when nothing was hurting. This is customary because I have just been horizontal for 6-8 hours, removing pressure from both the SI joint and the bulging discs in my lumbar spine (all of them. Yep.). I frequently find myself thinking at moments like that, "Maybe I'm just imagining all this pain. Maybe it's all in my head. Why can't I feel like this all day? Am I enjoying the attention? The drugs? WTF?" That was at 6:15. By 7:30, I was in a hospital gown, unable to sit up in bed because my back and left leg were aching with the white-hot fire of 10,000 suns. Husband was there to massage my leg, and Rachel, the nurse from Heaven, lowered the bed so I could be horizontal.

I'm pretty sure it's not in my head at this point. And I discuss with Husband that I'd like to do things like make a car trip, and need nothing more than a little stretch at the end to feel like myself again. I'd like to be able to walk around my classroom and not need to clench every muscle in my freaking leg to ward off the ache and stab. Sitting at my desk occasionally would be nice.

8:10 arrives, and they wheeled me into the room where everyone but me is wearing lead pajamas because the procedure is done under a fluoroscope. Undoubtedly, they were all warmer than me, as well.

By 8:20, the surgical nurse was telling me, this medication is really thick, so it burns when it goes in, but just breathe deep and you'll be out in thirty sec.......

Yup. I was.

At about 9:10, I wake up back across the hall...and...I have no pain. Oh my God, I have no pain. An hour earlier I was ready to gouge out my own eyeballs with a spork, and not a sharp one, either. And here I am with no pain.

Procedure number two is intended to extend the positive results, and is already scheduled for April 16th.

Updates and Other Stuff

Wow, now that I shot my whole wad on that title, I don't think I have anything left in me to post.

Okay, maybe I have a thing or two.

I haven't updated Books Read in about six weeks. I realized that it didn't look like much because I hade been re-reading and re-reading books recently. It serves as a nice distraction when my back or my leg are driving me up a wall. In the last month-and-a-half, I have re-read:

Duma Key, by Stephen King (twice), 800 pages each time
The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, 928 pages
A Dirty Job, by Christopher Moore (twice), 405 pages each time

I have also read:

Fool, by Christopher Moore, 336 pages
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Last Straw, 217 pages
Mystery at Lilac Inn (Nancy Drew!), 180 pages

That comes to just over 4,000 pages.

*****

My car was getting a new set of tie-rod ends the other day, so 17-year-old-Boy drove me to my scrapbooking outing. I don't really like to ride in his car, partly because he drives too aggressively (i.e., he exceeds the speed limit by 3-4 m.p.h.), and partly because, well, his car smells strongly of teenage boys. Apparently he agreed with me on that second part, because he bought one of those pine-tree-shaped air fresheners. Now his car smells like teenage pine trees.

That lovely scent triggered a migraine for me, so I did not accomplish as much scrapbooking as I might have hoped. By the time I cam home that night, I needed an ice pack on my neck to be able to sleep.

*****

Tomorrow morning (Tuesday), I will be at the local hospital for a pain injection. I need to be there at 7 a.m., which means it'll be an early night tonight. Cross your fingers for me that it works.

*****

Conversation @ bedtime not too long ago:

MAW: (playing a word scramble game on a Palm Pilot) If they had gone out on the Minnow for one hour longer, it would have been a four hour tour.

Husband: Whu?

MAW: Then all the letters would have been in the word 'fourth.'

Husband: What are you talking about?

MAW: F-O-U-R...H-O-U-R...T-O-U-R. Get it? How cool would that have been? They weren't thinking ahead.

Husband:

It's endlessly entertaining around here, folks.

Mousetraps and Testicles

Cringe much? I'm sure even some of the ladies are, upon reading that post title. Last night, 17-year-old-Boy was working on his mousetrap car for physics. After gathering some likely-looking materials, he sat down at the table to work. 19-year-old-Girl came along and asked if he needed help.

"Well, no," he said, "But you can keep me company." Sometimes teenagers don't suck.

He used an exacto knife to trim some foam off of an old Nerf gun to use as his axle. 19-year-old-Girl wondered aloud where the nearest Urgent Care place was. Not that she doubted his skill, just, you know, 17-year-old-Boy and a sharp object.

"It's that place I went for my sports physical," Boy said.

Sports physical brought a question to 19-year-old-Girl's mind.

"What exactly is the turn-your-head-and-cough-test?" she wanted to know. So he explained it, and I explained it some more. Then 17-year-old-Boy asked, rather indignantly, "Why did Dr. T have to feel up my nuts when he did the physical last time?"

We discussed the fact that Dr. T was his regular doctor, and did a much more thorough* job of a physical, and wanted to make sure the boys were secure in their little nest. Interestingly, one of them leapt up into the boy's body cavity, and Dr. T had to go in fishing to bring it back down. Not a pleasant experience, I gather. But he lived, and after a trip to a specialist, we found out that the little opening in the pelvic floor was slightly larger than normal, but nothing to be concerned about.

Just a typical evening at our house.

*He's a good man, Jeffrey. And thorough. - Julianne Moore as Maud Lebowski

Water-Proof Mascara

I HATE to cry in front of people. Really. Hate. It. Husband is an exception, of course. He's seen me cry lots of times. That's what Husbands are for, right?

Today, I visited the new pain clinic, and met the new doctor. We went over symptoms for a bit, before he did an exam, and I stopped him at one point and said, "I know you are very busy today, but I really need to tell you about my last experience at a pain clinic." I was shaking this morning at the thought of this visit. I told him about the factory-like system at the old place, and that after nearly two years, the doctor who treated me knew NOTHING about me or my life. Because I am still pissed off at this other doctor, and feeling so helpless in this pain, I started to cry. I got through my spiel, and felt good about what new guy had to say. He has a terrific sense of humor, and was able to describe to me what I was thinking and how I was feeling. I cleaned myself up and we got on with the exam, which I was now feeling much better about. We came up with a plan of action together that I think might actually help.

It's been years, people. And after he left, I cried again, but this time good tears, because it's been so long since I thought anyone could help. I got out my phone and texted Husband, "I think he can help." Except I accidentally put in MY phone number instead of his, and sent the message to myself, which made me laugh and think, "What a moron I am."

On the way home, I talked to Husband, to whom I had re-sent the text message, and told him I had first sent the message to myself mistakenly. He replied, "Maybe you needed to tell yourself."

I married a wise man.

Three-Ass post

It just occurred to me that I don't really ever do anything or go anywhere, so what am I doing with a blog? Well, okay. I do SOME things, and I go SOME places, but not really anywhere or anything very interesting, right? Lately, it's work, home, physical therapy and teach, eat, sleep, complain, exercise. It feels as though I am in a bit of a rut.

Today at PT, I arrived early and asked for ice. It had been a rough day, physically, and I knew Beth would be peeling me off the ceiling if I didn't calm my back, leg, and butt-cheek down before she started. It helped a little, but not enough that she could do anything for me today.

Tomorrow, I visit the pain clinic. My last experience with a pain clinic was less than satisfying. I'm sure the doctor was technically competent, but that didn't stop him from being an ass. He was able to help me with injections about half of the times that he tried. Not necessarily his fault, but his practice was sort of a pain factory. Maximum billing, minimum inquiry. I saw the guy for over a year, and by the time I left, never to return, he knew NOTHING about me. I showed him, though. I never paid that last five dollar co-pay. I think they billed me for it for eight consecutive months. I'm sure they spent more than five dollars trying to collect their five dollars.

Have I told you about my emancipation at school? My team started the year with this child, whom I eventually came to refer to (out of school, obviously) as the @$$hole. I am a VERY patient teacher. I specifically ask for troubled kids, and wiggly boys in my class. I like to be able to help them enjoy school for the first time. I like the challenge, and I sympathize with their issues. But this one? This one thought he was the king of the ghetto, while living in a very affluent neighborhood. This one posted obscene and obscenity-laden videos on YouTube. This one assaulted the principal, and only missed me because I was quick. This one lied to us at every turn, threw every attempt at understanding back in our faces, and monopolized ALL of our time, leaving the other fifty-one kids on our team short-changed. This one? Was poison. Many the other at-risk kids on our team sought attention from this one, thinking he must be cool. After his third ten-day suspension, and an assault, when the principal called for a hearing for a forty-five day suspension, his mother decided to pull him out of school and enroll him in another district.

Goodbye, and don't let the doorknob hit you...well, you know.