If you've read this blog at all then you know that the universe is conspiring against me. For real. And that the manufacturer of my body used faulty parts. I mean, how else do I end up with knees that look like they belong to an 80 year old? And now, I apparently have spontaneously rupturing muscles. At least with the torn meniscus I had a great story and could call it a "sports injury". This latest thing? Yeah, I got nothing with a capital "N".
It started Wednesday. I drug Mike to town (yeah, seriously drug him. It's boy scout camp time and he's busier than a cranberry farmer at bogging time. And the way it works is once he steps foot off camp property at least one thing breaks.) But we had an appointment we had to keep, we'd already rescheduled three times. And I had to go have some ridiculous ABI test done for my doctor. It was like musical blood pressure cuffs. Arms, legs, all at once, one at a time. Not too bad except I'm not sure why they feel the need to blow those cuffs up all the way when I have relatively low blood pressure. Anywho, we got all that done and we even snuck in lunch beforehand. But of course, on the way home, he gets calls and texts and apparently all hell broke loose at camp while he was gone.
So we get home and he rushes back down into camp. No one else is home so I go to the computer and start working. As I'm working, I notice that its beginning to hurt when I move my right arm a certain way. I really didn't think much about it til I got up at 7 to see about something to eat. Then I noticed that it really hurt to move my arm. It got increasingly worse and when Lu got home from work, I showed her how it hurt to move it certain ways. Her expert advice? "So don't move it like that". Seriously, that girl could be a doctor.
So Mike asks if I want to go to the ER. Who wants to go to the ER at ten o'clock at night? So I say "no". And he goes to his workshop to work on some stuff. But by 11? I can't move my arm without bringing tears to my eyes. And let me just remind you that I am not a wuss when it comes to pain. Walk around on a torn meniscus for 6 months? No prob. Birth a 10lb breech baby with no drugs? Been there, done that. So if I'm in tears, it's serious. So Mike and I proceed to the ER at 11pm.
Cue Twilight Zone music because really? Those people who are at the ER at that time of night? Born in a Walmart if you ask me. There was the pregnant meth head (no lie) who was both scary and pathetic. There was the old lady that they took back immediately even though she appeared in no distress. There was the guy I thought was going to pass out on the floor in front of me. And the whiny chick (who again did not look sick). And the triage nurse from hell. Mike suggested that we bring food some night and just hang out there and people watch. He said it might be fun if I wasn't in so much pain.
But I was in pain. And after sitting in the waiting room for an hour I was highly tempted to take the security guard's firearm and blaze a trail back to a treatment room. And when I heard the meth head say that she should be next, I believe the words that came out of my mouth (quietly so only Mike heard me) were "she better back that crap up because I will cut a b**ch!" Have I explained that extreme pain makes me cranky??
Then the guy comes and gets me for an xray of my shoulder. He informs me I have to remove my shirt and bra and put on a gown. Well, I managed painfully to remove my things and get the gown on but I had to have him tie it. He does the xrays, also painful and then tells me I can get dressed.
Me: Dude, that is so not happening. There's no way I can get that stuff back on by myself.
Him: *mouth open. crickets chirping*
Me: Can I borrow this gown? I'll go out and get my husband to come with me to the restroom and help."
Him: oh yeah, that's fine. (Seriously? Did he really think I was going to ask him to help??)
So I grab my clothes and go get Mike. We go to the ladies restroom and I go in to be sure it's empty. He comes to the handicapped stall with me and I shut the door.
Mike: I'm so going to get arrested. And then I'll be branded a sex offender and lose my job and have to register on a list and...
Me: Um. It's pretty obvious I can't use my arm. I think the security guard will understand.
Finally we see a doctor. And for the third time that night I get the "What did you do to it?" NOTHING! I wasn't skydiving, playing tennis, doing chin-ups or falling down stairs. I was typing when it started. Every time I say this, I am greeted with dubious looks. I'm halfway tempted to tell everyone Sean beats me. I mean, he tells people I beat him so it's only fair, right? The xrays look fine. The doctor has no idea what's wrong. So they give me a shot of dilaudid and a Valium and send me home with a vial of narcotics and instructions to see my doctor the next day. So I'm higher than a kite, but it hasn't even touched the pain. And I have to stay awake on the drive home so I can keep poking Mike, who's falling asleep at the wheel. Because it's now 2 am.
Nothing helped the pain so I went and saw the doctor who was covering for my doctor on Thursday. After moving my arm and watching me tear up he determined that it was my bicep and it's likely ruptured. He gave me a shot of Toradol, which is an anti-inflammatory and a regimen of high dose Motrin round the clock. He also put me in a sling. If it's better by next week, then it's only strained. If it's not, it's likely I separated the tendon from the muscle and will need surgery. You all know how much I love surgery. Like a fat guy loves diet food. So far, it's helped. Whether it's the immobilization or the Motrin, I don't know. I hate the sling with a passion, but if I don't wear it, I forget and use my arm and then it hurts again. Fingers crossed for the strain. I don't have time for anything else.
And this whole episode is the exact reason why I love Mystery Diagnosis so much. It makes me and my medical issues seem normal in comparison!
Have a great forth y'all!