This is going to be long, so you'll have to take breaks and go pee and get lunch and go to bed and work and all that, but it will be well worth it...I think. Hell, I don't know. Only if you like reading about me and my escapades and illnesses.
Ok, so when I barfed up all my rice and V8 soup I made (two wks ago), when I got sick, I was scrambling to get down the stairs, and I fell. I caught myself, but I landed harder on my right wrist.
THEN, the next day, when it was coming out the *ahem* "other end," I had to do the same thing, and guess what?
I FELL, AGAIN!
Yes, on my right wrist. You think I wanted to even it out? Hellz, NO!
Then, this past weekend, I was going to throw Jammy's favorite ball across the room, and when I pitched it with my right arm (stupid), when my arm completely extended, I HEARD and FELT (felt and heard?) an AUDIBLE POP. Yo, let me tell you, that put me on the ground. It hurt so badly, I thought I was going to pass out. So, I crawled back to the bed (I'm having Déjà vu - have I already told you guys this story? Oh, well, sit back and shut up) and palpated (felt around) to see if I had anything broken. When I pushed around on it, it was fine. But, if I extended my arm at all, my hand and wrist were freaking out.
So's, I called my doctor buddy to ask him to take a look at it on Monday, because it was SERIOUSLY hurting, like really, really bad pain, tingling, numbness, etc... In the meantime, though, he said he wanted me to get a wrist x-ray, or more specifically, a scaphoid view. He said it could be fractured, but I told him I didn't feel anything (possibly because of the numbness?).
So, I spent all weekend with my palm on my chest, like I'm doing the friggin' pledge of allegiance or something. Everywhere I went, people are like, "um, can I...help you, or something?" Hell, no, I don't want help! Not from you, Mr. Nice Stranger Who Could Be a Serial Killah! BYAH!!!!
Seriously, though, I kept bumping people off, because I didn't really need help. Seven sacks of groceries will fit nicely into my retarded curved arm, thank you.
Ok, for serious, I really was ok.
Oh, EXCEPT for the horrible pain.
By the way, I'm sorry I've got this weird attitude and "Valley Girl" thing going on ("Ok, ok, like, this one time....."), but I'm just in a great mood today, despite the searing pain. I guess I need to be more in touch with my "Valley Girl" within, and THEN I can get a date.
Somehow, though, the prospect of what I would attract DOES NOT appeal to me at all.
Gross. Now, I have "dumb, fall-for-a-pretty-face, do-anything-for-big-tits, will-hit-that-sweet-ass, only-thinks-with-his-trunk guy" all over me. Ugh. I need some Viraguard or something to bathe in. I feel icky.
ANYWAY, back to my hand. So, weekend goes by...meh, it's ok; no better, no worse. I make it through Monday (and x-ray my hand - no fracture), and it's starting to hurt a little more.
What the crap? Time is passing! It's supposed to be getting better!
Tuesday rolls around, and I get to hang out with one of my regular surgeons downstairs, *Dr. K*. I tell him about the situation, and he tells me to bring him the x-ray. He looks; no fracture. He pokes and prods, no real biggie. So, he brings me a "thumb immobilizer" and tells me to wear it, that it's going to keep my thumb still enough to heal, because I've probably just bruised a ligament.
(Btw, that thing is a BITCH to work in. Just thought I'd throw that in.)
So, TODAY rolls around, and this sucker is KILLING me. The whole day, I was doing the pledge of allegiance AND wearing the splint. Finally, I started feeling this burning chafe where my hand has been hurting (incidentally, it's on the palm, that whole part under my thumb and INTO my wrist), so I take the brace off. It stops.
Hmm, that's weird...there's no chafing there. It's not even the slightest bit red. So, I move my hand, stretch it, twist my wrist, etc, etc, then I reach for the mouse at my computer.
Burning and pain SHOOT through my hand and into my wrist.
"Oh, my God." I pull my hand up to my chest (pledging). My friend is working today, but not until 2p, so I'll just have to wait.
JEEBUS, was today the longest day in history, or was it just my hand's imagination?
So, my buddy gets to the OR, I run down and show him, he pushes on it, palpates it, "Does this hurt? Does this hurt? Do this. Does this hurt?" No's and yes's, nothing major.
We walk into his OR room, and I stick my hand under the c-arm, just so he can manipulate it under x-ray and see what he can see (oh, say can you see...anyone? Anyone?). The whole time, I'm talking to the people in the room, pushing the button on the hand controller when he tells me to, he's poking it, pushing my CARPAL BONES around (haha, that reminds me of the "carbal ant" - 'nother story). "Turn it over. Push against my hand. Does this hurt? How about this? Straighten your thumb..." I'm not paying the least bit of attention to what he's doing. I'm running my mouth, as usual.
THEN, he says, "Ok, I'm going to (in the slow, deep, scary, movie voice) PULL TRACTION ON IT."
Alright, it was actually in his regular voice, but after what happened, that's all I can remember.
I took my stance, I stretched my arm out, he took me by the wrist, and pulled ONLY SLIGHTLY.
I shot straight through the roof. I screamed, out loud, in a surgery room, slapped him about 10x on his arm, and was jumping around with my wrist in my mouth...all in about the span of 5 seconds. I was actually embarrassed, because it was so loud.
Tears started welling up in my eyes, and everyone was like, "Omg, what's wrong??! What happened?!?!!" He told them what happened, and they were all suddenly looking at me like it was my funeral.
"Well," I thought, "this can't be good." My wrist was THROBBING, or as people down here say it, THOBBING. I think it was doing both, I don't quite remember. All I knew is that son hurt, and I was seeing blinking stars. I said, "Omg, I'm SOOOO sorry I hit you!!!!," and he said, "Um, it's ok. I'm going to, um, page *young Dr M*." (I never know if these docs want their names to be used, so I like to be a bit discreet. Btw, you should have SEEN the dump I took the other day...)
"What?!?? What for?!!? What's wrong with it??!"
That doc never called back, so my friend said, "Well, I'm going to go ahead and see if I can get you in for an arthrogram and an MRI," which is part of my department, actually.
But, when he said the word "arthrogram," I almost started to cry.
"An ARTHROGRAM???? WHY??!?! No way. No effing way am I doing that."
To shorten the dialogue (yeah, right), back in the day, when I worked at Kirklin, I had a shoulder arthrogram. It was done by a very professional, very good doctor. But, apparently, since it was being done on an employee, and I had specifically requested him, he was very nervous, and um...let's just say, I've always promised myself I'd never have another arthrogram...in my lifetime...while I was alive...and had an ounce of fight in me.
No offense to the doc or anything, but that was THE worst procedure I've ever gone through. I'd rather have 27 colonoscopies, 18 endoscopes, and 3 more knee surgeries, before I ever did that again (no pilonidal cysts, though: refer to first post ever). It was pretty traumatic. Heather knows. She was there. She was my tech...who put cold cloths on my forehead...stroked my hair...talked to me...and held my puke bucket.
As much as I fought and begged and almost cried, he said I had to do it, because he thinks I might have torn something important and might have to have surgery (this part I missed the first time around, but he says he said it).
Because I have beaucoups (again, bookoos) of time off. To use popular 90's vernacular - NOT.
I used every bit of it up while my family was here, and I wouldn't take it back for the world. I was so thankful to have them here!
ANYWAY, BACK TO MY WRIST!!
He went and told another doctor about my sich (haha, that's from this decade! Probably yesterday!), an old, crotchety doc that I worked with at TKC, *old Dr. M,* so *old Dr. M" found me in the OR hallway and started poking around on my wrist. I said, "Don't pull it, or I'll slap you."
"Don't worry. I won't.......*poke poke turn poke push poke mash poke ow mash harder I SAID OW*.......but, let's go ahead with the arthrogram and MRI."
"WHAT??! Are all you people just against me?? WHY DO YOU HATE ME????"
Yes, I enjoy my volunteer job as a drama queen, what of it?
And, as he walked away, he said, "You're welcome. Let me know when it's been dictated."
I stood there, mouth agape. &=O
So, I talked to my friend this afternoon:
"Did you talk to him??? Did you put him up to that??" &=(
"Oh! Yeah, good, did he find you?"
"YES. And, he told me I have to do the tests!" &=(
"Well, because you need them."
*mumbles* "No, I don't." &=(
"AND, *Dr M* would be pretty good to do your surgery (I'm flipping out on the other end), if you need it."
"Did you not hear me this afternoon? (apparently I didn't) Jennifer, if you've torn something, it's going to have to be fixed."
*I'm whining and bitching on the other end* &=(
"Of course, if there's no tear on the MRI, he may just put you in a cast."
"WHAT?? A CAST??!?! A PLASTER ONE????? FOR HOW LONG??????"
(This has not boded well for me at all. I'm very disappointed, yet guarded, about my wrist.) &=(
"NO. Not a plaster one. A fiberglass one, and it will probably be for about six weeks."
"SIX WEEKS!?!??! ARE YOU SERIOUS??? Are you serious, or are you just playing with me? Be serious, dude. I'm really scared." &=(
"I am being serious. I really think you've done something. It's bruised, ripped, or torn. It could be your 'blah-blah' ligament or your 'such-n-such' something or another, and it's not going to get any better with you in that splint."
God, I'm a total fuss-budget today. Even through all that, I managed to have a good day. &=(
And, you know what else? When I got home, I immediately dropped my bag on the floor, my keys on the counter and made myself some STAT s'mores. Because I needed them. &=)
Then, my blood sugar sky-rocketed and everyoneelsediedsotherewasnoarthrogramtheend. &=(
No. I sat down to write this blag. And, I write for you, through the pain of my hand and the throbilization of my wrist, because I know it ain't gettin' any better right now. I'm going to be holding my allegiance to the flag all the rest of this week AND the weekend. Monday afternoon is my test. I made Robbie, our MRI tech (Sharon, I'm sending prayers and good healing your way!!! Come back soon!!!), schedule me with a certain VERY, VERY good radiologist, *Dr. L*, because I am scared shitless to do this again. Seriously. I'm already starting to have diarrhea about it, and you guys know how I am about my nerves. &=(
I mean, having a pain block is one thing. Sure, they stick a needle into your back/ass, but they also give you a cocktail of Versed and God-only-knows what else. You can't even remember your name or to close your mouth because you're drooling. &=P
Having a needle stuck into an extremity, while you're totally awake, looking on?????? Not fun. I'm so scared. I've already started rubbing the skin on the tops of my feet raw, because I've been rubbing my feet together (another cool thing I do when I'm nervous or fidgety). &=(
One doc told me he could write me a scrip for Valium to take before I go in. &=(
You know what? I'm super-claustrophobic (I almost had a come-apart at the Piggly-Wiggly yesterday), but I can deal better in the MRI tube than I think I can this! They know just to put a cloth over my eyes and play some classical music, and I'm cool as a cucumber. Omg. I'll have to remember my CD on Monday. &=(
PLUS, I've got PT on Friday, I've GOT to clean this wreck of an apartment (that I'm not moving out of), and my belly dancing classes start August 8. &=) I AM happy about that. But, I do NOT want to be dancing around with an effing cast on my arm, so &=(. (ew. from here, it looks like I have a zit on my chin.)
Grawr. AND, Slipknot's coming August 12, and I wanted to give that to myself for my birthday, since I'll officially be SUPER-OLD this year, but I'm not sure now. I sure ain't gettin' in the mosh pit with a bright pink cast on my arm. I'm just kidding. I'll get some sort of depressing color, like grey, or vomit, since that's what started this whole mess. Actually, it's Carpeted Stairs fault, but I'm NOT talking to him anymore. Jerk. &=(
I'm still pissed that I'm not getting to go on the road trip to Canada. I wanted to see some hot Canucks, eh! &=)
Still, I would like to have someone petting me and babying me right now. I hate doing it all myself. It feels weird, you know, spooning yourself at night. It's starting to creep out the girls... &=(
ALRIGHTY! I'm done here. It's 10 or 11 something, FAR past my bedtime, my wrist is on fire, I need my meds, my mushy cold pack, South Park and sleepytime, in that specific order. &=\
Damn. I am demanding. Oh well. Someone out there wouldn't have it any other way. *sigh* &=\
Goodnight, my pookies. I'll update as long as I can type.