The Rant D’Jour mentions the St Patrick’s Day parades but only obliquely. I think I have some true parade rants so I will look for those to post on Saturday and Sunday. In the meantime:
Having attended many St. Patrick’s day parades in Scranton in my day, I have seen my fair share of the inexplicable behavior that results from the consumption…more
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Blog Post for Friday 3/11/11- 37 degrees and it has stopped raining. Flood crest in some areas sometime Saturday. I am glad we do not live by the river.
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This year I have spent more time in the company of nurses and doctors than normal for me. As some of you know I am on a study of a diabetes drug that will revolutionize the world of diabetics. It’s groundbreaking science combining the latest and greatest of the pharmaceutical world into one slender syringe and it is blasting my high blood sugar away.
It sounds a lot more interesting than it really is.
I spend a LOT of time waiting for blood tests to be done and an equal or greater amount of time cooling my heels in exam rooms.
But it’s OK. I get a good feeling from helping to make life for other diabetics better and my own personal health has almost never been better.
Except. But.
I injured my shoulder a long time ago. I was skiing and fell and tried to stop my fall and I did the classic rotator cuff deal.
It’s not hurt much until just recently. I don’t think it’s tied to the drug study. I just think my shoulder, like the rest of me, has become old and cranky.
So it is today, with not a little trepidation, that I go see another doctor, this one an orthopedic man.
I don’t think he can do much. A shot of steroids or maybe an oral course.
Some physical therapy may be in my future which will be difficult to schedule around my crazy weeks.
He may want to cut me. I really, really hope not.
I don’t do well with anesthesia. Which is funny because back in the day I paid lots of money and sure did a lot to achieve an anesthetized state.
Those are stories for another time.
But here’s one for now.
Pretty sure this is where I was.
My tolerance for substances was very great at one time.
One time when I was having surgery the gas man gave me a la la land shot in the prep room. He said it would put me away in advance of the coming festivities.
He shot me up and looked at me expectantly. I looked at him and asked when the trip to the Magic Kingdom was going to start.
He frowned, looked at his watch and disappeared into the next room. I counted ceiling tiles.
He came back with another needle and said, “See you after the operation.”
Same routine. He gave me the injection and stepped back, folded his arms and watched me with a smile on his face.
I asked him if there was a TV or a book I could read while waiting for the magic bus.
Now he was disturbed. I could tell. The smile went away. He said something about “…enough to knock down a rhino,” and went away again.
This time he came back with a syringe the size of a horse…um…leg.
No preamble. No promises. He jammed a gallon of some milky stuff into me and I indeed went someplace else.
Woke up with the Long-suffering wife hovering over me. I remember my first words to her very clearly.
“Where have YOU been?”
I wonder where I had been.
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