Stabbed In The Back

If I were a hot blonde in a mini-skirt and stiletto heels, I couldn't have teased this story more. Let's hope that after all the build up, it doesn't disappoint. Thursday I went for what is known in medical parlance as a "procedure". If you're a loyal reader, and why wouldn't you be, you have been treated to the ongoing saga of me versus my spine in a battle for dominance and a pain free life.

My spine has been winning lately. It has armed itself against me using arthritis and bone spurs as it's weapons of choice. The pain has been affecting my life in all areas. I can hardly walk more than half a block, I couldn't stand for more than a few minutes, and then it started affecting my romantic swerve, if you know what I mean. A man can't live without getting his swerve on, so I vowed to defeat my spine and relegate it to it's rightful place, namely holding my big ass up.

After months of therapy and chiropractic adjustment that just seemed to anger my spine and make it sharpen it's bony claws, I saw a spine and pain specialist. After checking me over, he said that the best course of action would be to get injections directly into the joints of my lower back, thus defeating my foe from within. Drastic? Sure it is, but I think I've already illustrated how serious this had become.

So the day came and "Wife" drove me to the hospital. I'm not a good patient. I get nervous and instead of channeling it in a productive way, like say, telling someone that I'm nervous, I explode over stupid things. That way, the people who care about me are mad, and don't care if I survive or not. It may not be Vulcan logic, but it works for me. The doctor was a young guy who seemed to know what he was doing. I had done a little research on him, because let's be honest, you don't want a stranger sticking a needle in you spine. He asked what kind of music I would like to listen to and being the good patient I am, I responded, "Whatever improves your aim."

The problem with being a comic is that once people find out what you do, they all want to be funny. The doc was no exception, except he had taken it to the next level. He had actually done some "open mic" nights at a comedy club and proceeded to tell me how it was his dream job. As you can imagine, I was hoping that being a spine doctor was his dream job, and that he hadn't put Three Stooges video in where the X-Ray monitor should be. I don't want my doctor crafting a knock-knock joke while he should be watching the camera and guiding a sharp instrument into my disc joints.

I was given a local anesthetic and then the fun began. The fist two shots seemed to go rather easily, although I must admit that even numbed, a needle going through you back muscles doesn't feel great. My back must have sensed danger because I was repeatedly told how tight all the muscles were. Then things got difficult. The needle for the third injection wouldn't go into the joint. Between the arthritis and the bone spurs, the joint was being as difficult to open as a baby's mouth when it doesn't want to eat it's creamed spinach. After a few tries, I let out a yelp, because to my chagrin, the anesthetic was wearing off. I was given another pain shot and finally my joint opened and the procedure was over.

It may be to early to call a winner in the war, but I think I may have won this battle. I'm still in a little pain, but nowhere near the amount I was in before. In two weeks I see the doctor again and we'll decide if I need another shot. For now, I just think of my spine as an enemy that may have retreated, but is lying in wait.

There, I told you the story. I think it was worth the wait. Later...Brian