(Cue the eerie music.)My procedure was today, the epidural for a herniated disk in the lumbar region. (You remember, the "old karate injury," right?) I had to have someone drive me there who could also drive me home. Sal was gracious enough to do it. She has medical power of attorney over me -- it's a dirty job, but someone in the locality has to do it -- and she's the only one who volunteered. It was over an hour asking me questions, half of which they had in their computerized records already, and fifteen minutes of the actual procedure. The needle was actually less painful than the unnecessary questions. I mean, I'll bet they don't get many patients who react to the incisions by yelling: "Oh, yeah, THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!"
Hey, maybe it's just my way of handling pain. Is that a crime, I ask you?
Actually, I tend to be a bit of a curmudgeon. (Oh yes, 'tis shocking, I know.) Most of the time it's no problem, like at the parish where I work, but when I read the release form, I had a field day with the part about medicine and surgery not being an exact science, and that I had to allow for some risk of serious injury, even death. This is what happens when risk assessment lawyers begin taking over the world, not to mention force your Aunt Minnie to get fingerprinted even though she's been teaching Sunday school for forty years without incident, while Father Magillicuddy still manages to hide his kiddie porn collection ...
But, I digress.
Anyway, one of the nurses, also a Filipina, could not believe that Sal would be, uh, well, you know, with a guy like me. Can you imagine that?
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reruns of "Law and Order" to watch.
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