Did I mention that I F*CKING HATE NEEDLES?!
Yeah. I did.
Hate ‘em, hate ‘em, hate ‘em.
I hate them more than I hate seeing a 1982 Toyota pull past me on the highway…
...sounding like a crazy turbo-charged lawnmower…
..."bolt on stupid sh*t what the F*CK do you think you are driving a jet? gigantic-wing-thing"...
...stuck on the back…
...and a two-foot diameter tailpipe that even an elephant wouldn’t think was tight while he was banging it as he feverishly tried to make little baby elephant-Toyota-mutant things.
Elephant: "WTF?! This is like screwing an open window. Who pimped this ride?!"
Sometimes I wish I had a hood mounted cannon on my car.
If you’re one of them reading this…you look like an ass and no one likes you.
…while you're at it, pull up your pants and turn your hat back around.
You stupid, stupid prick.
(Public Service Announcement is now over).
Anyway…back to needles…
What sucks about hating needles is that I have the honor of having tendonitis in my left shoulder.
This, in and of itself, isn’t bad.
But – every so often...
...I need to get a cortisone shot.
Did I mention I DON'T LIKE NEEDLES?
Last week, I woke with awful pain in my shoulder.
For four days, I could not raise my left arm.
Luckily for me, I self-pleasure with my right hand (and sometimes a box of chocolate donuts (as to best simulate my desire for "Jungle Fever")), so this didn’t affect my Advent Calendar too much.
So, the FIRST time I went to this Orthopedist, he diagnosed me with "calcific tendonitis".
...this original diagnosis was in 2003.
I’ve been back to this SAME DOCTOR at least ONCE A YEAR for the past four years to get a cortisone shot.
So…seeing that it was REALLY bad last week…I went back today.
After sending me for X-Rays, my doctor comes back into the room….
Dr.: “Well…guess what?”
Dr.: “You, sir, have calcium in your shoulder."
Dr. (continuing): "We call this calcific tendonitis.”
Me: “No sh*t. You told me this SAME THING four f*cking years ago.”
He looks confused...like, "Do I know you?"
He pauses, then looks down.
He decides to thumb through my chart (you'd think he would have done this BEFORE).
Dr.: “Oh yeah. Well...would ya look at that.”
(Scene of unimaginable violence as I kill him with his own shoe).
Dr.: “Well…let’s give you some cortisone, and see you in 6 weeks.”
I LOVE Cortisone.
If they could make cortisone shakes at McDonald’s, I’d be their biggest customer.
One McCortisone Shake a day is all I'd need…
...but I'd drink two shakes when they bring out the Monopoly game.
There's REAL WINNERS you know!
...but I digress...
In 2003, when we had this meeting THE GODDAMN FIRST TIME, he did the same thing.
He gave me a cortisone shot.
I had never had a cortisone shot before…
...but I’d heard the horror stories.
Mind you…I’m a huge pussy. I don't do well with pain.
BUT – surprisingly, it did not hurt. At all.
What gets you, though, is the anticipation BEFORE the needle.
...as a cortisone injection uses a needle roughly the size of the Space Shuttle.
...and they leave the gigantic syringe sitting there on the table...
...that bitch is taunting you...
"Hey there, dickhead," it says..."This is gonna F*CKING KILL."
I hate talking needles.
But the actual injection doesn't hurt (see "elephant banging open window" reference above).
What DOES feel weird, though, is that the shot contains approximate four gallons of cortisone.
When you have four gallons of fluid being pumped in your shoulder…it feels weird.
On that note, I feel that I can now relate to being a woman in a voluntary record-setting gang bang…except that the fluid being pumped into me is going in my shoulder and not in any other orifice(s).
(not that I've watched such a movie...just..you know...guessing that such a movie even..um...exists)
I feel I've said too much.
...in 2003, I got my shot, and left the office.
The shoulder felt good.
So, immediately upon leaving the doctor's office, I hopped in my car and drove to work.
35 miles to work.
About ½ way there…I started to feel it…
My lips were going numb.
Another minute later, my tongue was numb.
My cheeks were numb.
“Um…,” I think to myself…”This can’t be good.”
Starting to freak out, I call the doctor’s office.
Nurse: “How can I help you?”
Me: “Hi. I was just in there and had a cortisone shot. Now my face is going completely numb. Thought I’d call and see if this was normal.”
Nurse: “Well…where are you?”
Where was I?
I was in four lanes of heavy traffic going 80 miles an hour on the busiest highway in Massachusetts.
Me: “I’m driving to work, why?”
There’s a noticeable lull in the conversation.
Finally…she breaks the silence:
Nurse: “You’re…you're actually driving?!”
Me: “Um…yeah. I’m on 128 now. Um...why?”
WTF?! More silence?!?
She comes back:
This was not an:
“Oh…you’re dressing as Santa this year?” – ‘Oh’…
...this was a:
“We forgot to tell you that you shouldn’t be driving lest you kill someone” – ‘Oh’.
Me: “Um…what’s up with the ‘Oh?’”
Nurse: “We usually tell people to relax for an hour or so in case they have a reaction to the shot. You’re having a reaction. You should be lying down.”
Am I going to die?! WHY WOULDN’T THEY TELL ME THIS EARLIER?!?!?!?
I immediately have flashes of gurgling up foam...passing out...as I drift into the oncoming lane and completely take out the van full of nuns coming the other way in a fiery, yet spectacular, explosion.
But it didn’t happen.
I didn't pass out.
I didn't crash into nuns.
I didn’t die.
I survived the reaction.
Just like I did today.
On my way to work. Another reaction.
Lips numb..face numb...talking like "Mushmouth" from Fat Albert.
Once again, I made it.
No nuns were harmed in writing of this post.
However, may I say that if I DID have a bad reaction in the car, I would have aimed my hurtling vehicle at that goddamn Toyota with the giant fin and the Jenna Jameson tailpipe.
I’d spare the nuns this time and take out the pimped-out hip-hop jackass instead.
It IS Christmas, after all.