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L4-5

The good doctor did catch me when I fell to my knees due to pain, but I didn’t let my heart fall that quickly.  I mean, give me some credit.  He put me back on the stretcher and within a few hours I was in my own room awaiting surgery.  Of course, like almost every other time I went into the hospital, my period seems to attack at the very moment I enter the ER.  It’s as if my body wants in on the action of the medical field and begins to bleed out just so it gets noticed.  Apparently my reproductive system has a mind of its own.  Thankfully I have the best friends a woman could ask for and while I lay in my bed, juiced up on morphine and basically unable to walk, they will change my pads, help me to the bathroom and agree never to speak of it again…oopse.  I saw a few different doctors that day and each one told me that there was nothing they could do except operate.  Fine.  Let’s do this.  Then everything seemed to come to a halt.  I waited almost two days laying in that bed for something to happen when a very slight, very handsome surgeon walked into my room with a very built, extremely handsome other surgeon.  They proceeded to tell me that all the test are inconclusive and that they can’t really see anything on my MRI.  Ok, so now what?  They then proceed to explain to me a syndrome that occurs when people have a lot of medical mishaps or surgical procedures.  “Sometimes we call them surgery junkies”  he stated.  Wait, what?  You think I am faking this?  You think that I want this?  That I need a shot of morphine every hour, have my friends wipe my ass and change my pads cause I need a surgery fix?  Like some attention seeking medical hooker?  I think the only thing that came out of my mouth was this “I am not leaving until you fix me, I don’t care what that means, but I’m not leaving.”  And I didn’t.  Within a few hours I was prepped and staged for surgery.  It was as simple as that.  The last thing I remember him saying was “Lets hope it’s nothing.”  Let’s hope?  Let’s hope it’s nothing?  Are you insane?  I would have gone through all of this for nothing?  It’s all in my head?  I replied “Trust me, it’s something”  I woke up back in my room and I did not feel well.  It was like waking up on a saltwater fishing boat like in Jaws right before the shark gets blown up.  The seas were rough, the water choppy and I was spinning.  The doctor came in and quietly spoke “You were right.”  Oh how I love those words.  “We would have never seen the herniation if we didn’t go in.  It appears as if your disc herniated inward into your abdomen and we had to remove it with an instrument we call a pic and took out the pieces one by one. You are a testament to listening to the patient”  See that, I’m a testament. I know what I’m talking about even though many people would disagree with that statement.  I’m not a surgery junkie, I’m an informed patient championing my needs.  So needless to say they removed only a portion of disc that they could recover and they left it half-open to hopefully close on its own.  No cadaver bone, no titanium plates, no crews, just wide open like the flood gates.  Then he continues by saying “You will need to be on bed rest….for at least the next three to five months”  Now trust me, I could really use a few days laying in bed, not doing anything, but three months.  Do you know how hard laying down for three months is?  Do you know how hard laying down for three days is for someone like me?  I’m not familiar with the term “relax” or “take it easy” or “slow down”  I then inform the doctor that that was not going to be possible and he very flatly said “Looks like since you can’t do it on your own, you’re body decided to do it for you.”  I was highly insulted and taken aback by this comment.  It was 100% true, I didn’t slow down, I didn’t know how to relax and now I didn’t have a choice.  I left the next day with a two inch incision on my lower spine, a handful of prescriptions and a walker.  I arrived to my home on my daughter’s birthday, with a house full of people celebrating with cake and coffee and Gingham there to help. I wanted, needed silence, but the house was a flutter with activity and candles and presents.  As I laid down and began to fall asleep Gingham leans over and whispers in a very serious, low tone “We need to talk.”  Oh God, what now!?

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