It has been noted in this blog, that I've had my share of surgeries and emergency room visits over the years, and I added one to the list over the weekend. Sometime last week I trekked up and down the numerous stairs in my townhouse carrying all kinds of heavy shit like I was Magnus ver Magnussen working over some German slob in a late night strong man competition on the ESPN Nordic channel. I felt fine when I went to bed, but by the time I woke up it was like Annie Wilkes from Misery paid me a late night visit to brush up on her hobbling skills.
After checking my symptoms on WebMD, I was convinced that I had a rare form of Leukemia and if I didn't get it checked out immediately I would lose my leg. So the wife and I braved the snow and cold to spend a romantic afternoon at the Reston E.R. Unfortunately, I got the deer in the headlights doctor, whose pants were pulled up to his nipples and he offered absolutely no advice or help. Like a hack psychiatrist he just repeated everything I said back to me, "Doc it's sore between the Achilles and the growth plate." "I see so it's sore right over here between the Achilles tendon and the growth plate." Is there a fucking echo in here? Luckily, he did offer up the good drugs and as usual I played dumb.
Doc: Do you need something stronger than Advil for the pain?"
Me: I think so, it hurts pretty bad.
Doc: Have you ever taken Vicodin before?
Me: I'm not sure, is that something I should take with food?
Doc: Yes, it may irritate your stomach, if you don't.
Meanwhile, I'm thinking fuck no I'm not taking it with food, that ruins the buzz. Pass the Crown, and let's party bitches! As I left the hospital, I realized that I learned nothing about my injury, but I cared less because the Vicodin fog was rolling in.
We headed straight to Target, so that I could keep the V-fog nice and thick. Of course I got there just as the pharmacy closed. Luckily, I caught the chick leaving the pharmacy and like a crazed junkie I begged her to hook me up, and she obliged. Then, she only charged me $5 for two prescriptions. Best drug dealer ever! I spent the remainder of the weekend petting unicorns and hoping that Skittles would fall from the rainbow colored skies.
Finally, this afternoon I saw the specialist. The office was packed with so many people hobbling around, that I had a flashback to the medical unit in Da Nang in '69. After completing a mountain of useless paperwork saying I wouldn't sue them if they ass raped me while I was living in the V-fog, they escorted me back to the little room with the paper on the bed.
The alpha male doc came in and asked me to work the runway. Apparently, I failed the field sobriety test and he fitted me for a boot and ordered me to do physical therapy for 2 weeks. Fuck me! You know how good it feels when you take your ski boots off after a day on the mountain? Yeah, well wearing this boot is the opposite of that. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to have a Better Off Dead dream tonight. "He's skiing on one ski!"
Now if you'll excuse me I need to paint some bitchin' flames on this boot, so everyone at physical therapy knows what a bad-ass I am.
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