“Carmine said one boy, here are two!” – Larry London, The Freshman
Last week I thought possibly I’d be heading into surgery this week. Little did I know, that was optimistic!
I started experiencing pain that seemed like sciatica. Only it was in my left arm, rather than the left leg like usual. I looked it up on (shhhh) the Internet. Symptoms like that indicate a bulging disc in C5, middle of the neck. I have degenerative disc disease, so it sort of made sense. But… damn. So I made an appointment and toughed the weekend out with Codeine.
Until… last night
Pain like that pretty much defies words. You more describe it in action, or sound. Sort of like table pounding, mind blowing, teeth grinding, mind numbing, sweat pouring agony on a scale all its own. My back? No. My neck? No. Shoulder? Not even close.
No, not that one. My *GOOD* knee.
What did I do? You may ask. Well, my beloved father told me to tell everyone that while I was bombing the slopes at Winter Park with Lindsey Vaughn, we were cut off by Shaun “Flying Tomato” White. I’m a little older than Lindsey, so while she recovered from our spectacular skid down the slopes, I wrapped my knee around a tragically placed pine. They sent a helicopter, where I was emergency medivac’ed to Denver.
Unfortunately, that’s not what happened.
So what really happened?
Um. I sat down. At the dining table.
No, seriously, that’s it. I sat down. And suddenly the pain was so … well, you know how they say “blinding pain?” Yeah. It hurt so bad I couldn’t see. Breathe. Think.
Doctor thinks the tendon ruptured. No reason. No cause. It just blew.
Not one possible surgery. Two. One spine, one knee. And the chances of not just one but two specialists accepting new patients and that can schedule an MRI within 48 hours? Non-existent. So I’m spending the night tying up loose ends. Tomorrow I’m heading for the emergency room. Hopefully they’ll be able to get me an MRI right there, and if they see either a ruptured disc or tendon I’ll just be admitted. Unbelievable.
*sigh* I don’t wanna. Can’t I be 24 years old again instead?