I've been looking back on my blog, reading some entries from the past year, and it's really helping me to appreciate how far I've come. I was thinking back to where I was a year ago, how much I still had to endure, and recalled an interesting experience that, in retrospect, seems pretty funny to me today.
I shall call it: "Stop looking at me! I am NOT having an affair. I think I'm going to puke"
A year ago, I received a cortisone injection in my knee. Initially, it screwed me right up. I was dizzy, nauseated, and sweating profusely. Apparently like 0.0000000001% of the population suffer side effects of cortisone injections. Yay me. The next day; however, when I stepped out of bed, the knee felt remarkably better. I had been saved. I strutted around the office that day, sans crutches, and even gave Dr. M a cocky little wave as I sauntered past his office. I felt amazing. The effects didn't last long and I soon felt myself craving that injection once again.
I waited the obligatory 4 months and then, a week before Ev and I were set to leave for a week in Hawaii, I begged Dr. M to give me another injection. Like Lance Armstrong before the Tour de France, I knew the only way I would conquer this vacation was with a little doping. Just a bit. Dr. M agreed and I met him in the clinic that afternoon for my sweet little injection.
"Ok, since you had side effects last time, I'm keeping you here for while to make sure you don't pass out or anything," Dr. M instructed as he prepared the syringe.
Yep, Yep, just give me the injection. Hurry. Damnit. I need it.
He carefully injected the cortisone into my knee and I laid back, picturing myself frolicking on the beaches of Maui.
"OK. She's going to stay here for a while - she had side effects last time so just keep an eye on her," he instructed nosy nurse (that's what we shall call her).
Disclaimer: I really respect the nurses that I work with. It's a tough job and the majority of the nurses at our hospital are awesome. I had 4 knee surgeries at this hospital and have nothing but praise for the people who cared for me. This just happened to be an "off" experience with one particular person.
After about 20 minutes of laying quiet, I decided to get up and get my coat on. I felt fine.
As I sat up in bed and reached for my coat, the room began to spin and I so elegantly started slipping off the bed and onto the floor.
Nosy nurse came rushing in, spotted me falling to the floor, and yelled, "Dr M, she can't go. She's falling off the bed!"
Um, awesome, thanks for telling on me, but could you just maybe help me off the floor?
Dr. M came rushing in and helped me back onto the bed.
"You're going to need to call someone to come and get you. You can't drive like this," he stated.
I nodded groggily as the room spun circles around me.
Hmmmm, it was 1pm on a Tuesday. Ev was at work. My friends all have jobs....except for one. Lawyer's hubby, Darren. You could always count on Darren. Like me, he was an injured mess and off work for a while. Darren is also a patient of Dr. M's! We often joke that that Dr. M really hit the jackpot when he received both of us as patients. Score! In addition, Darren is a nurse. He would understand.
I texted Darren and he informed me that he would be there ASAP.
My symptoms were worsening rapidly. I felt puky and sweaty and a little panicked. Nosy Nurse took my blood pressure and it was high. I laid back and tried to relax, staring at a specific spot on the wall to prevent the room from spinning so quickly.
My buddy Darren soon arrived and it was apparent that Nosy Nurse knew him personally, "Darren, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here for my friend, Kirstie," he replied.
"Re---alllly? And does your wife know?"
Are you frickin kidding me?
"Yes, she knows," replied Darren calmly. "We are all friends."
Nosy Nurse couldn't handle this. She went behind the nurses desk and began chattering with her co-worker. I could hear every gossipy word she was saying.
"Darren is here to pick up Kirstie - you know, the Speech Therapist. But he's married to that blonde lawyer. Hmmmmm."
I couldn't stand it. In my delirious state I hollered, "He's just my friend!"
Suddenly from another room, I heard Dr. M, in his best Garth Brook's voice break into song, "I got friend's in low places." Funny.
Gong Show.
"Darren, grab me a bucket or something. I'm gonna puke," I pleaded pathetically.
Darren quickly grabbed me puke bucket and I gripped it and took deep breaths. Dr. M, Nosy Nurse, and Darren all stood at my feet, staring at me with concern. Unfortunately, Dr. M was now standing directly in front of my special spot that I was staring at - the one that prevented me from falling out of bed. He stood in such a position that I ended up staring directly at his...um...ahem...man package area. Awkward.
"Ok, staring at me doesn't make me feel any better, " I snapped, "Stop looking at me!"
The entourage quickly vacated my room and I was free to focus on my special spot without distraction.
"Hey, why don't you give her some gravol," questioned my wise buddy, Darren.
"Well, we can't just give her gravol here. We need a doctor's orders," replied Nosy Nurse.
"Hey!" hollered Dr. M from another room, "I'm actually a Doctor, you know. Give her the gravol." Poor Dr. M.
So the gong show continued as Nosy Nurse tried several times to insert an IV. Once the IV was in, she realized there were no IV poles in the vicinity. Dr. M, completely frustrated with the situation, marched in, sighed emphatically, and stood on a chair beside my bed, holding the bag of gravol above my head so that it would infuse. Good God. Wow, this guy is being paid a shamillion dollars an hour to act as an IV pole. Like me, I'm sure Dr. M just wanted this day to be over.
Eventually, the symptoms began to dissipate and I just desperately wanted to be home and in my own bed.
Darren took over the IV holding duties and suggested we make a break for it. "I'll grab a wheelchair, pull the truck up front, and get you out of here," he suggested.
"OK, but it's 4:30. I'm going to see all my co-workers. I don't want to be seen looking like this in a wheelchair," I complained.
"Throw a bag over her head!" joked Dr. M from another patient's room, "How's your knee feeling?"
"F*&# the knee!" I yelled back. Wait a second. Did I just holler an f-bomb at my surgeon? - the one guy who can actually help me? F me.
I actually couldn't help but laugh at that point. Was this for real? Where are the hidden cameras? It felt like a ridiculous Seinfeld episode.
After 4 hours of idiocracy, the debacle came to a close and I was able to walk myself out of the hospital.
"Thanks for joining us today," joked a defeated Dr. M, "I think that was your last cortisone injection."
"Yep. Best day ever," I sighed.
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| Ok so cortisone isn't really "doping," but it sounds way cooler. |
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