Wednesday, December 23, 2009
There's a reason narcotics have that nickname. Anyone who uses them recreationally truly is stupid. They turn brain cells to mush and movement slow-motion. But . . . . . . I thank goodness for them, too. Here's why. Tuesday morning, as I toweled off following my shower I felt a stabbing pain in my left hip and numbness in my leg. I couldn't imagine what had hit me. My mind came up with some scary scenarios. One of my grandmothers had been walking down the driveway to get the newspaper when her hip broke and she fell. The doctors confirmed that it happened in that order -- weird. Being considerably younger than her when that happened, I decided that was not it. As the pain worsened and caught my breath, I thought of a hairline fracture. Calling 911 seemed too extreme, so I called my doctor's office. Choking back tears and sitting on hold after responding to way too many recorded questions, I got an appointment in two hours time -- amazing! Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in public without make-up or styling my hair. I actually debated whether or not to risk streaking mascara or going without. The latter plan won. I was in too much pain to care about going out with damp, crooked hair and no war paint, bent over at the waist. Gasping and groaning, tears shamelessly running down my face, I drove myself to the doctor's office. Sitting straight up is the only position in which I find comfort, even taking Percocet and high dose Motrin. At this point I'm more pissed-off than pained. Christmas is in two days and I'm barely mobile -- perfect timing! I feel like such a dope . . .