Proctologically Speaking, Not My Best Day

My MRI results were read to me over the phone yesterday, and the doc said that they show I have a bulge at L5-S1, and some degenerative disk damage. It also said the sun was going to rise tomorrow in the east and broccoli smells bad when you stick it in your shoe and leave it there for a year and a half.

Ah, well. Poor kid didn't know it wasn't my first MRI, maybe. But at least the results show the pain isn't all in my head. The funny thing is that my back has been feeling pretty okay the last three weeks or so, ever since I stopped going to decompression therapy. I even managed a short stint on the stationary bike and a mile and a half walk on the treadmill this week. Though my back was a little sore for the attempts last night.

But today was my scheduled epidurogram and steroid injection. I'd had the latter at Bethesda Naval Hospital a couple times around a year ago, where I drove to work after the procedure (though they made me stay in the hospital for 30 minutes to ensure there were no negative affects). The hospital here, however, said I was supposed to bring someone to drive me. I asked if I could just walk instead (it's twenty minutes on foot), and they said that was fine.

They put an IV in my hand (which didn't happen at Bethesda), and then asked me to roll on to my front, where they pulled up my shirt and down my sweatpants. I hoped they closed the door. Dr. Bhimavarapu Reddy then put something in the IV. Which I thought was rather rude. "What was that?" I asked politely. "Just a relaxant." ...mkay. Perhaps I should have read the following before coming in:

Intravenous sedation is required either because the treatment is too uncomfortable or sedation is required to control high anxiety levels.
Sedation is not an anesthetic, and verbal contact can be maintained at all times. It is also known as conscious sedation and feels as though you're moderately drunk.
If your treatment involves receiving an injection, then local anesthetic will always be used to reduce your discomfort. However, it is not possible to achieve 100% pain free treatment.
You must be accompanied by a responsible adult who can drive you home and care for you after the treatment. You must also not have anything to eat or drink for
3 hours prior to the treatment. Sedation requires an intravenous cannula (plastic tube) to be inserted into a vein on the back of your hand using local anesthetic. (Guess they forgot this part. I have a bruise the size of a silver dollar.) Through this tube incremental doses of Midazolam (short acting vallium) will be injected until the desired effect is produced.
It is important that you do not operate dangerous machinery (driving a car, kettles (!)) for 24 hours afterwards as Midazolam can impair your judgment and motor skills for longer than you think. You must also not sign any important legal documents for 24 hours as Midazolam can adversely affect short term memory.

So next post I'll tell you about the Lexus I bought five hours after the procedure.

At any rate, none of the above was told to me ahead of time, except that "I would feel funny," hence the need for a driver. Not the 3-hour prior rule, not the 24-hour post rule. And the doctor didn't say a damn thing about what he was doing to my back, just hushed instructions to the nurse. So I kept asking questions. So he kept adding more sedative. Sorry: "relaxant." A second syringe, then a third, then a half. I finally asked him, "Am I supposed to be asleep for this?" "YES." "Ah." I never did go under, though, and I felt it was my right to be aware of any "oopsies" he might say in broken hindu. At Bethesda, they actually injected the steroid slightly above my surgery/injury, but this doctor wanted to go right through and underneath the scar tissue, so he was SERiously low in the back. WAY down there, I'm talking. Like it seemed he was way UP another area, if you get my drift. Subconsciously, I clenched. The cathoder hurt like hell, but when he said he was putting in the "medicine" (I assume the steroid) and that it would burn, I didn't feel a thing. He said I did very well, that "some people scream during that part." Nice. It might have been the four gallons of horse tranquilizers you've pumped into me in the last ten minutes, there, Doctor Fusilli.

They wheeled me on a guirney into a separate room, with saline flushing my IV and an arm band variably checking my blood pressure, which alarmingly went down to 96 over 49, though they said that was due to the "relaxant." After twenty minutes, they let me go, "drunk" being a pretty good description of how I felt, though not a fun, at-the-ballpark drunk but more a took-eight-straight-double-shots-of-vodka-and-should-be-hugging-a-cement-wall drunk. A breeze outside felt good, but I still felt like dogmeat once I got in my apartment. I tried to eat some crackers and some plain skinless chicken and lay motionless on the couch.

But fear not, I felt much better after throwing up at 2:30. :-) The wooziness was gone, and I had a cup of tea (kettle-handling be damned!) and a piece of bread, and, since I had an appointment, trudged out to the car (driving restrictions be equally frowned upon!), and went really expensive car shopping.