A Shot in the Dark

I’m back on my feet, and off my back, after having been punctured in many places with a local anesthetic then shot full of some kind of steroid-like substance, not just once, but three times. A row of three perfectly placed bandages along my lumbar spine.

According to the (altogether too brief) literature I was handed before my “procedure,” some people get relief right away but others could take a week to ten days before full results are reached.

I still feel the same. I guess I’m just one of those people.

At least the pain in my lower back is not any worse. But I’ve picked up some other things along the way. Namely a little blip in my hormone levels that’s having undesirable effects like disturbing my sleep and making me want to cry every other minute, then eat carbohydrates like mad. And I’m still shaking off the stiffness that results from three days spent mostly on my back.

The latter I would not try at home. Unless you have your walking parts encased in plaster or you have the flu or some other nasty malady. Each morning you wake up with a backache from hell, and the dread that you are only getting up in order to lie down again. Your legs get wobbly. And boredom? Do you want to talk about boredom?

No. It’s pretty boring. And baseball on the radio, to paraphrase a much loftier phrase, is only half a game. And the best part? This was only meant to be a diagnostic procedure. If it works, then I have to do it again in a few weeks.

But let’s leave the dark side for now and look toward the light.

It’s over.

The bandages are off.

I have the “green light” to resume all normal activities.

Now, what were they again?

I think I used to do something. There was a lot of walking involved. And stretching. And driving to and fro from medical appointments to pharmacies.

And yes!

There was writing. And hopefully, when the meat of this juice kicks in, there will be more writing.

Hopefully about something other than medical procedures.

But unfortunately now I have to write about this one.

I wanted to say it was a bit like an assembly line – the guy does from 11 to 18 “procedures” a day, I’m told – but reviewing the play with that black drape over my head, I’d liken it more to idling in line at the car wash. Someone comes to your window, finds out what you want, and he writes the code in soap on your windshield. When your turn comes, you put the car in neutral and you are hustled in, prepped, sprayed, sponged, rinsed, heat-blasted, then you pop out the other side, dripping from the fenders and feeling a bit disoriented.

Yeah, that’s more like it. And also according to this literature, I was supposed to be offered aromatherapy or soothing music if I so desired, to relax me for the procedure. But I was catalogued, marked, prepped, then surprised with the first of six rather deep jabs of local anesthetic, shot with steroids then back in recovery before I had the chance to say, “A little Anya if you have it might be nice.” Husband says I still have a bit of writing on my back. A bit of it came off with the first bandage: “RLS” in relief like a Silly Putty impression on the sticky part. (Is there a real term for this part of an adhesive bandage? Other than the “sticky part” and the pad?)

I think it stands for “Right Lumbar-Sacral” meaning that when I popped into the spray-and-wash cycle, I was meant to get a bunch of shots on the right side of my back from L1 to S1. I think. So I wouldn’t be mistaken for the other five people waiting to be relieved of their pain and get a shot in the shoulder or something. But to be written on then sent into the hopper disturbed me a bit. Considering also that the doctor is a Russian Jew. You’d think he’d be a little sensitive to having his patients tattooed like that.

Reducing them to a series of letters.

I hope it washes off soon.

Maybe it’s meant to be the measure of the effectiveness of the shots. When the tattoo comes off, you’re done.

I’m still waiting.