This post comes to you from under my last glimmer of hope (because I didn't wake up to the news that scientists had perfected surgical back replacement techniques, despite my hours of prayer) and the rubble of sweet exhaustion (what with the lengthy praying and all). I was finally able to get in to see a doctor this morning about my back, and the pills up there - a cocktail of Darvocet (for the pain, gah! the pain!), Relafen (for swelling...with a potential side effect of bleeding and stroke, yippee!), and Robaxin (for relaxing muscles tighter than my Mom's pursed lips when she's trying not to make disapproving remarks about me) - are now coursing through my system, and already I feel woozy and would cluck like a chicken if you told me to.
(p.s. - While my meds are perhaps not as intense as some have enjoyed recently, I'm happy to note that acquiring them didn't involve the cutting into of any body parts, even though I am not completely convinced there's not a giant, teeth-gnashing tumor festering in my lumbar region, ready to burst out like William Wallace, screaming for freedom. I'm also pleased that acquiring them didn't involve complicated shaving rituals because honestly, in my present state, I can't even begin to bend in ways necessary for such tactics.)
Anyway, I saw the doctor today, and I felt a little weenie upon entering the building because, boo hoo, my back hurts, but apparently the world is filled with really sick, really contagious people, so now, of course, I should prepare to actually get sick because wow, the waiting room was littered with all manner of those people, coughing and snuffling and filling the air with their evil. I very nearly took one of the surgical masks the staff provides patients, the ones they keep in a cookie jar at reception marked with the label "If you have a cough, kindly wear a mask for the benefit of our other patients" and yet NO ONE EVER DOES! Why? Because you're afraid of scaring off people? Have we learned nothing from I Am Legend (other than yawn...) or 28 Days Later? I for one do not look forward to a future where bad CGI mutants roam the cities, and if you'd just dip into the cookie jar, you'd do us all a favor.
Thankfully, I was called back to an exam room quickly, and didn't even have to wait more than 20 minutes for the doctor to come see me (have I ever told you about the time I waited, naked and covered only by a paper sheet, for nearly two hours to see my doctor once?!). The examination itself was pretty cut and dry. Are you constipated? No. (I can tell you people about my vibrator purchasing habits - too many times to link them all here - but just typing that last sentence made me want to apologize to all of you). Are you bleeding when you pee? No. (again, I feel like saying I'm sorry). Are you having your period right now? For a change, no. (sigh...). Then he had me stand up, turn around, and position myself in front of him. Let's just say that I've only stood in front of three men and bent over, and the last one I married, but today I added a fourth to the list.
Grabbing hold of the exam table in front of me for leverage (again, something I've only done with three other men...), I kept waiting for the Braveheart tumor to burst through my skin and eat the good doctor alive as all his poking and prodding (three men...) tempted fate. Instead I listened to him hem and haw and ask if it hurt here? How about there? Way up here? What about now? My tears, gently dropping and flowering out upon the tissue paper-covered exam table, served as my answer.
"Could be kidney stones," he said. "You're going to need to pee for me."
Thank goodness for the three gallons of water I'd consumed between 10 p.m. and 10 a.m. That helped. You know what didn't help? The lab tech opening up the pee cubby while I was attempting to provide my sample! She totally scared the crap out of me (not really)(I mean not figuratively. She did scare me, though) and suddenly I felt like I was under a lot of pressure to deliver, and that pressure caused me to spill the bulk of my sample (thankfully in the toilet bowl)(again, I'm feeling the need for apologies...). No worries though. I was on F thanks to all the water I'd poured down my gullet.
The diagnosis? No kidney stones. Also? A commendation on being an excellent pee'er (peeer?). That alone was worth the doctor's visit. Oh, who am I kidding? No it wasn't. The drugs were worth the doctor's visit, and yeah! He delivered.
So anyway...I'm sorry if this post makes no sense. I'm sorry for all the parenthetical remarks. I'm not sorry for all the times I've written about vibrators. I took my first round of pills an hour ago and the sweet light of relief is shining on my horizon as I type, so I'm going to go attempt to lay down and relax for the first time in five days. Do with me what you will at this point. I'll be back - hopefully with a healthier back of my own - later.