Sunday, February 11, 2007

Misery thy Name is Sciatica

So I was driving my twins hither and yon, as one does here in America -- sitting in the car, sitting on my butt. It turns out that there's a bundle of nerve endings in your sitting area that, if sat on in the wrong way at the wrong time, can cause the misery called sciatica. When I finally got off my nerve bundles and out of the car, pain was excruciating -- Freddy Kruger stabbing my hip and the fire radiating down my leg. Man, middle age sucks.

I ignored it as best I could, which always worked well with physical problems when I was younger (and is a tactic I still like to try with machinesl). And other than limping, groaning and/or cursing whenever I moved my right leg (or sat down, or got up), and being really bitchy to poor Kirk, I thought it was going pretty well. But when I woke at 4 am this morning with the feeling that someone had plunged a stilletto in my leg and was twisting it, I got up, googled sciatica, decided I had osteo necrosis (New rule, never google my own symptoms between 1am and 5am.), and that it was ER time for me.

Now going to the ER is always like entering one of Dante's mid-range circles of Hell. And I've taken my husband there so many times that I know what to pack now (food, drink, books, crossword puzzles, pencils, a TV, and a Lazyboy recliner) so I'm well prepared. I know i'll sit alone in a room for hours, that different people will ask me the same five questions over and over. I'm a pro at this. Seen it all. Except I've never had a prisoner -- orange jump suit, handcuffs conected by a short chain to the shackles around his ankles, the whole nine yards -- in the room next to mine. A prisoner, with two fat policemen standing outside the room Yakking away and not paying very much attention to the PRISONER behind them. Anyone who's ever watched TV knows what's going to happen. And I'll admit, right up front, that I've watched way too many reruns of Law and Order and CSI. But there they were, so doghnut-eating-fat-cluless-cop seeming. I was certain that the young, lean, fit prisoner was going to off them with his concealed shiv and take me hostage. Which didn't happen, but it did keep my mind off the pain.

But this story has a happy ending. it's called Vicodin and it does take that edge off. Hope it gets me through the night tonight, and if anyone has any sciatic pain wisdom, I'd love to hear it.

1 comment:

Jean-Luc Picard said...

I'm surprised orange jumpsuits and chains are not standard issue at the ER.