Suck it up, Buttercup.

Got my MRI results back today.

Good news: My ligaments and tendons look fine.

Bad news: I have Petellofemoral syndrome.

Treatments for flare ups include: Rest, icing the knee, compression and drugs.

Basically, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it except the above. So it’s quite literally “suck it up, buttercup” and deal with it. I will admit, I was happy to find out I wasn’t going to need surgery…but, then the doctor laid the other diagnosis on me and the first words out of my mouth were, “Uh…can’t I just have surgery?” Because really, anything else? They’d be able to fix it. You can’t really fix this.  It’s most likely a result from previous injury (giant bolder, hockey, rollerblading dog). 

Don't get me wrong, I am VERY happy I don't need surgery. I just wish the issue had been something...fixable.   

The upside to this is that I can begin my work out regiment again.  I will just need to wear a brace and take it easy on my knee and cross train a bit.

And so it goes. 

Disco Time Travel Doughnut

The cow goes: MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The pig goes: OINK OINK OINK

The sheep goes: BAAAAAAAAAH

The MRI machine goes: BRAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNKKKKKK!

So, I had my MRI this morning.  It went surprisingly well. I have to admit I was nervous. As soon as I was scheduled, my brain went off the deep end.  “You have a rare form of knee cancer!” or my favorite “Your family is from Roswell!  All the alien technology is going to be ripped from your body by the super magnets in the MRI machine!”  Those are the random thoughts that leave me with a “WTF?” look on my face and wondering exactly what the hell kind of crack my brain smokes while I’m not looking. 

So, alien technology worries aside, I show up bright and early this morning to get the paper work they couldn't do over the phone out of the way. Hospital reception staff were nice and courteous and after a few general questions (all about whether I had TB, or had been around someone who had it) I was actually admitted into the hospital.  This surprised me considering I was just there for a scan, but I was given two bracelets.  One with my general info on it, and the other a bright yellow one with big block letters that said: FALL RISK.  Apparently, they’ve heard of my renown cat like grace when confronted by ninja furniture.

Bastards.

So, after that’s taken care of I get sent to wait in the lobby area in front of the elevators.  It took about fifteen minutes, but pretty soon a tech came and fetched me back to a little women’s locker room area where I was instructed to take off my knee brace and put my phone and anything with a magnetic strip in a locker, along with my keys.  And to hit the bathroom.  This was going to take a while.  Man, they weren’t kidding.  ß This is foreshadowing, because, the brilliant person I am, I DIDN’T DO IT.

After stowing my stuff I was lead to this little room that housed what looked like the most technologically advanced doughnut that you’ve ever seen.   I had finally come face to face with the mysterious MRI machine.

Well, they had me lay down on the cot/shelf like thing sticking out of the techno-doughnut and then stuck my knee in another tube like thing and elevated it slightly.  As they got me ready, they gave me head phones and asked what radio station I wanted, then told me to hold still and shoved me in the doughnut of doom.

Hold still.  Simple enough, I thought as Disturbed started playing.  I closed my eyes and was getting into the music, ignoring the fact I was stuck in a disco-doughnut and my knee was hurting a little bit.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK!

I about shit myself.

It sounded like the hateful scream of a dying, sixty foot tall, radioactive goose.  This I was not expecting.  I am proud that I didn’t jump out of the doughnut and run for the fucking hills, because…well, giant fucking geese were honking at me.   Plus, there wouldn’t have been much running.   More like hobbling.  Or limping.

In the seconds it takes me to ascertain that this is part of the scan, I relax and try to listen to the music.  The tech even comes on over the headphones and asks if I’d like it cranked up a bit. I, of course, say yes and soon loud rock music is competing with the disturbing noises coming from the MRI.

To be honest, it was almost like a Skrillex concert.  

Anyway, it took about an hour for the scan to complete and then I was freed from the doughnut and led back to the lockers.  And here’s where I actually have a moral to this story: I learned an important lesson today; when they suggest you use the restroom, USE THE FUCKING RESTROOM.  The half of a 44oz fountain drink you downed while waiting will haunt you during the scan.  Soon, that steely determination not to move becomes that steely determination not to piss your pants as you go cross-eyed from concentrating on holding it. 

I really should have unlocked a life achievement or something: “ACHEIVEMENT: IRON BLADDER unlocked by Michelle on 5/18/12.”   

As for the scan results, I won’t know anything until Monday.  I guess it’s back to the “hurry up and wait” part of the game again. 

Operation Knee Capped

The Run Down

So, as it has been bandied about lately…I have managed to fuck my knee up.  How?  I was doing something healthy for a change.  I was working out, lifting weights, when my right knee just gave out under me. Being the intelligent human being I am, I hopped right back up and went about my work out in pain, but I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t be able to continue. 

Bright, eh? 

Anyway, after a week of dealing with elephant knee (swollen knee), hurting constantly and barely being able to support my weight on that leg, I went to the doctor on Monday. She did an exam and decided the best course of action would for her to treat my ten dollar problem before we started worrying about the several hundred dollar problem. 

She thinks I may have torn something, but isn’t sure…and that I probably have what is called a “joint mouse.” A joint mouse is basically a thin shaving of cartilage that has broken off and is knocking around in the joint causing issues. Now both problems will require an MRI (several hundred dollars) to diagnose, so she decided to treat my severe tendonitis before we went down that road.  So she gave me orders to stay off my knee as much as possible, wear a brace and gave me drugs (steroids and Vicodin); which, added up to the cost of the doctor’s visit and about ten bucks worth of drugs.

I’m cheap, so I appreciate this course of action.  Also, I’m not in any hurry to have an MRI done.  I remember those things from when my Dad was in the hospital with cancer, not happy memories…so they kind of freak me out. I’m not even claustrophobic; I just don’t like the idea of being stuck in a metal tube that isn’t part of some escape pod system from an exploding space ship.  Just sayin’.  

So it’s a wait and see type of situation now.  I’ve fourteen days of required rest on that knee, and then if it’s still jacked up…I go for the MRI and a date with an orthopedic surgeon.

The Funny (well maybe not as funny as normal. I'm on drugs people, give me a break.)

Now, as per usual, funny shit happened. 

Did you know that when you’re in a fairly busy doctor’s office that if, out of boredom, you investigate that mysterious jingling noise in your field jacket pocket and pull out a handful of spent .38 special brass, you suddenly get quite a bit a space around you to stretch out and put your leg up?  No? Well, now you know.

--The shell casings were from the weekend Kev and I spent up with his parents in Northern Mo. I’d taken my 98 year old .38 special to test fire.  Side effect to having weapons training is that simple things are usually ingrained.  Back when I was in weapons training, we wanted to keep the range clean and plus some of the guys were reloaders (they reused spent casings to make new bullets), so we’d pick up all our brass after each round. So, I was out there shooting with Larry in a cow pasture and automatically picking my brass up and pocketing it after each reload. I have to say, for its age and nonuse this little .38 shot smoothly, far better than any of the service revolvers I’d ever handled. –

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah, I was freaking out people who don’t know the difference between spent and live bullets.  Shaking my head and trying not to giggle I stuffed them back into my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone and started dicking around on twitter and texting people. 

I’m just going to make a blanket apology here:

I’m sorry my phone’s autocorrect is a bastard and insists on turning every use of the word “can’t” into “cunt.” I try to catch it, but sometimes I don’t.  My apologies.  I would never call anyone I text a cunt.  Actually, I seriously wouldn’t call anyone a cunt.  I rather like the terms, “twat-waffle,” “dick weasel” and “ass-waffle.”  If I’m going to insult someone, I want to try and expand their horizons with a creative insult.  I want to show them I put some serious thought and work into calling them a bad, yet hilarious, name.

Okay back to the medical fiasco.

So, I get out of there and come home.  I call and talk with my personal trainer. YES I HAVE FUCKING PERSONAL TRAINER.  I am serious about this getting into top shape thing, folks. She loans me her crutches.

Ah, yes crutches.  I’ve never used them before.  I’ve used a cane several times due to various unfortunate events that involved lots of cursing, possibly any of the following: dogs, leashes, roller blades, LARGE FUCKING ROCKS – I’M LOOKING AT YOU,ESMERELDA McCOY* , being attacked by shower ninjas and other mundane things that turn into weapons of mass destruction when around me or my family.

But, anyway…crutches.  Watching me use crutches is like watching a cracked up Bambi learn to walk on ice after snorting a few lines of Columbia’s finest. I have the grace of a dump truck sliding down a hill backwards on an icy day in Minnesota, couple that by giving me two aluminum weapons in each hand and I’m a walking, well…hobbling…advertisement for mass destruction and hilarity. Who needs the Three Stooges? They’ve got me trying to figure out how to use crutches AND carry a fountain coke at the same time.  Or, my favorite…go to the store and realize that pushing the buggy and using crutches at the same time was NOT physically possible.

Within the first thirty minutes of me getting crutches, I managed to whack myself in the knee…yes the hurt knee, even, not once…not twice, but three fucking times.

Today, I got to use them in public again when I went to KC proper to get my Sonic serviced. Luckily the mechanics are sweet guys and one of them carried my coke into the lobby for me while I made like a three legged Harvestmen (spider) and scurried in behind him in a tangle of legs and aluminum.  I was also wearing my knee brace so I was pretty pathetic. Apparently they like the chicks that can’t run fast at that dealership.  That or it was my awesome cleavage.  One of the two.  But, I had good service and lots of people talking with me.

This is all leading up to Friday when Kev and I will make a trip down to Texas.  Thirteen hours in a car with two of our three dogs (Batou is banned from Texas after an incident as a puppy.  HE WOULD BE A GOOD BOY NOW….pussies.) All I can say is thank goodness for painkillers.  Driving hurts like hell, so does sitting and laying down.  Really, getting my knee comfortable is next to impossible.  Which makes it look like an MRI is in my future. 

But for right now, I drugged out…and attempting to do my homework for the week.  As you can see, procrastination is still my number one subject.

*For those of you playing the home game, yes that is one of my siblings many aliases. For those of you new to this, my family has a history of ... um, assumed names.  Bah, it's a long story.

Eyebola

So I went to the eye surgeon today, a retina specialist. 

That was fun.

Though, I guess I should give a brief description on how I got to this point.

About the 9^th or 8^th of January, I sneezed several times, rather violently, in a row.  Then I noticed a large “spot” in my vision of my right eye.  I had felt a migraine coming on all day, and just thought it was part of it.  It was one helluva migraine too. Lasted about two days, and then eased off. 

Unfortunately, the spot stayed and was really driving me nuts and really affecting my vision.  (Still is.) So, after doing some digging around trying to figure out wtf was up I found out that one of my migraine drugs can cause Surprise!Glaucoma.  Not exactly what you want to find out. So, I made an emergency appointment with my eye doctor.

He dilated my eyes and discovered I had a mysterious pool of blood in my right eye, almost right in front of the retina and that was what I was seeing.  Because of its location and the fact that we had no idea what had caused it, he referred me to a retina specialist eye surgeon.

So that brings me to today.

They dilated my eyes again and also numbed them. ( I will say that numb eyeballs are a really really weird sensation. ) Then they proceeded to shine incredibly bright lights in my eyes, which to me was pure torture because I am very photosensitive.  After some questions, general exam and bright lights he decided he needed to run another test on me.

So, for the first time ever, I received an IV at the eye doctor.  It was just dye injected into my system so they could take over 20 colour photographs of my eye. (The dye would cause the veins in my eye to glow when the pictures were taken.) So, a needle in the arm AND bright lights once again.  The needle didn’t hurt, thankfully.  I am such a wuss around needles.  (Yeah, I know. I have a tattoo…but there is a difference.)

He actually had to call a nurse in to hold my eye open because I couldn’t keep it open at this point. So, really it turned into some weird interrogation scene from a war movie and man do my eyelids hurt.  

Anyway, the tests showed that there were no irregular vascular issues in my eye, which is very very good.  His final analysis is that basically either my sneezing caused an aneurysm or a blocked blood vessel basically exploded under pressure.  Neither pleasant sounding, but they also wouldn’t permanently effect my vision. 

So basically I have to suck it up and deal with my “blind” spot until it goes away.  Which will mean lots of time pretending to be Corey Hart and wearing my sunglasses at night (and day)and lots of time just resting my eyes after working/reading.   The “spot” is very annoying and distracting and impairs my vision, and makes me very cranky, BUT at least I know it isn’t something more serious.