Saturday, February 27, 2010

Oh my achin' bursa

So, my spine surgeon has decided to focus, not on the chipped off piece of my disc that is floating around in the nerve root of my whatsis, but on a course of sticking gigantic needles into my bursa, and then, into my spine itself. That procedure will be covered in a forthcoming blog entry entitled "OWWWWWWWWWW!"

The bursa! That's where you get your bursitis, you understand. The needle, which was so long that the doctor had to stand in the next room, I'm tellin' ya, was full of cortisone and a pain-numbing solution which has yet to work but I know it's in there trying to.

Bursitis? Doesn't that sound horribly old-fashioned and uncool, like pellagra or the croupe or the grippe or rheumatism? "Yeah, sorry, can't make the party Saturday; my bursitis is acting up again. Guess I'll just stay home, take a couple of Anacin, and break out the heating pad."

I'll tell you what WAS cool, and that was the delightful breeze across my posterior region, brought on by the teeny surgical gown (rear view not available)
that they tossed me. There must have been a mixup that led them to believe that someone the size of Tinkerbelle was the next patient.

It was also a good thing that, as I dressed for work yesterday morning, Peggy reminded me to wear decent underwear. I chose a delightful boxer, maroon with conservative white stripes, from the WalMart collection of fine foundation garments the active male, and rounded that off with the orange T displayed above, with an orange tattersall oxford shirt. Red socks and Timberlands rounded out the ensemble, in case fashion critics are taking notes at home.

Truth to tell, I think it's better to try all these palliative measures instead of grabbin' the scalpel and operating willy-nilly. The doctor and his staff were completely amiable, and they were more than willing to explain everything to Peggy, who sat with me taking notes, and to me, who sat there with his hind quarters flapping in the breeze, glad that I had not worn my, shall we say, well-broken-in underwear.

At my age, it becomes more and more likely that someone wearing some sort of medical garb is going to see those boxer shorts on any given day. Best to keep them well-tended.

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