I’ve been having various “procedures” performed on my back for the past 4 years to relieve pain from mysterious ailments. For the first two years they worked pretty well. For the past two years, while under the care of the new and most handsome pain management doctor, the procedures have not hit home, so to speak. Maybe that’s why he’s so handsome. It’s difficult for some people to become irate with a man who looks so damn good. Not so me.
I pitched a whopping hissy fit about a month ago. When I asked him to tell me in specifics what was wrong with my back he replied, “uh, when was your last MRI.” My answer garnered me a new MRI that, big surprise here, showed that what he was treating was not the problem.
In the meantime I have added 10 lbs. to my weight, via a back brace and wife beater t-shirts. The shirts are necessary to keep the brace from removing my skin in a perfect circular section beginning just above the hips to about 10 inches above the waist. Not something I want to experience even with the aid of pharmaceuticals.
Yesterday I was given procedure number 942 in hopes that it will be treating the correct problem, in the correct place, in the correct dose, in my body. Time will tell.
In the meantime, my bestest bud Jody, errrr, Aunt Maybelline, has offered use of a knitting needle to help support my back. To that I say, “thanks Aunt Maybelline, but with one needle only I will soon be diagnosed with scoliosis, and that will require a new procedure for a new problem that they are clueless about.”
The Monkey Pickle man called and offered me statistics. I’m not sure it those would be on the rate of failure to treat the right problem, or on the number of patients who fall for the ploy of handsome doctor can do no wrong. Mr. Handsome doctor also has an accent and that makes him twice the threat to women who swoon. I haven’t swooned since my back began hurting and these guys began treating me.
My buddy Clay contacted me an offered to step up the stalking to take my mind off the whole mess. I have to say I appreciate his offer but wonder about his stalking efforts when he has totally missed my wearing the wife beater t-shirts over the past ummmm 2 weeks.
Wal-Mart contacted me and said I had won a free pack of wife beaters as I am the only woman who had guts enough to ask if they come if pastels. I’m not proud when it comes to saving skin.
I was even contacted by an Urban Dictionary company wondering if I would submit those new words I was using and translate them for everyone. They’ve had calls from people who found them creative and wish to use them, if they knew what they meant.
My office mate and cubicle buddy is now paying me a quarter for laughter inducing words. Her favorite to date sounds like Owl Shit. It is not, but she loves to hear it anyway.
I sit here and worry about all of these things:
• Will the pain go away and when it does will I have to manufacture a new one so I can see the handsome doctor?
• Will Clay stop stalking when he sees the wife-beaters?
• Will Jody talk Aunt Maybelline into lending me both knitting needles?
• Will my office mate purchase one of those cute little jars that say “Swearing 25¢”?
• Will Wal-Mart begin stocking pastel wife beaters?
• Will the Urban Dictionary ever catch up?
• Will this stupid diatribe ever end?
From the life and mind of: Wanda M. Argersinger
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