There are so many different levels and types of pain that I wouldn't know where to begin. I have been under the care of a pain management team for over five years now due to a car accident. For that reason alone I deem myself knowledgeable in the pain department. If you disagree, that's cool. Onward we go.
When you are assessed as a patient under pain management care, they have you rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, one being low pain, and ten being extreme. I actually thought they were joking with me when I first met with them. Here I am in pain, but you want me to put a number on it? OK. So if I understate it I won't recover, but if I overstate it I may do more damage to myself by having them mis-treat me.
I don't want to put a number on my pain, especially because it changes with circumstance. Of course I am not going to be in as much pain if I am home reading a book vs. being at work and on my feet for eight hours. If there is a storm coming, don't bother checking the weather channel, just ask me. I have actually proven Dr. Mel wrong more than a few times. Sorry Dr. Mel. Don't worry. You still rock!
That being said, here is my story.
Doctor appointments: A. Must be kept always., B. Arrive on time, or at least 15 minutes early., C. Have waiting rooms filled with annoying people., D. All of the above plus so much more.
The Children's Medical Center is by far the best place to have your child cared for. Zachary went through his surgery with the great Dr. M. for his tonsils and adenoids. Sure he had loads of complications, but it was not for lack of care. Zachary bounced back from that after close to 5 days of hell on my part.
So here I am again. It's a different location, but one thing remains the same, the waiting room was made for kids. I am a big kid myself, so I don't mind one bit.
This room was huge, and in three sections. Depending on the purpose for your visit pretty much summed up where you sat. We were there for a "middle" reason which was great because they had toys.
Z-man headed straight for the Lego's.
Mom and I chose chairs closest to the window where I had to do the paperwork. In front of us stood a child's table and "mini-me" chairs. You know what I am talking about. Adult furniture shrunk to fit the wee ones. To my left I have a set of parents and their adorable baby girl. To my right I have a lovely young woman and a son a bit older than Z. I have to give alias' to avoid confusion, and because I feel that the idiots, aka parents, do not deserve my acknowledgement at all, I will stick with "idiots" for them. The lovely young lady who was so pleasant to my son I will call "Eva". That's Z's Eva from Wally.
Clipboard in hand and several signatures later I am in a chair doing the routine history required by us every time we go somewhere new. Zach is playing at the table right in front of me. Grandma is in the chair to my immediate left, and the idiots are 3 feet diagonal from her.
"Idiots" put "sweet baby" on the floor. Aw how cute is that? Um. Idiots, my kid has on hard Starter sneakers, and has no clue that your precious is right near his foot. I get a bit tense and ask Z to move to the opposite side of the table. This is where he meets "Eva".
"Eva" was very sweet, and I am guessing Indonesian. It's a compliment. She was beyond gorgeous. Her actions is what made me think how shallow we are. How when faced with an uncomfortable situation you either become an "idiot" or perhaps a hero.
They called Zachary. That's how my pain was about to become this THING that I didn't know existed. My son's name and a sucker punch of burn and searing pain.
Why? Oh. That's real simple. Because the "idiots" that heard and saw me move Zachary to the other side of the table for the safety of "sweet baby" and her precious little fingers, they were enjoying her crawling on the floor. Can anyone say eww?
I get up and call Z's name. He is to my right with Eva. I go to step forward, and what do you think I see? Yup. It's "sweet baby" and this all happens so fast I can't really explain it as well as I want to.
I see her and shift my step. In front of me is the chair that Z just left and I tried to maneuver myself but fail miserably. I connect with the now vacant mini-me chair that Z was using not so long ago, and it hits me.
I am going down. HARD.
What I see is "sweet baby" so my leg jerks away to avoid hurting her. The other leg tries to go over the silly little chair, but instead connects and proceeds to take this overly conscious friendly mom and turns me into a screaming pile of creative cursing bitch. I wasn't bitchy to everyone. I pretty much hated anyone who touched my legs. You slip and face plant in front of a bunch of people and see if you want to be friendly.
I calmed down after I was told to breathe for the 100th time. Pain. Oh the pain. All I could say was it burns.
I can't get a date but I sure had enough Emergency response people present. Thank you to all who helped me.
It has been 5 days since the Ouch incident. I really want to thank the "idiots" who never asked if I was OK after the3 whole ordeal was done. Way to show your daughter that a non-responsive action is best in an emergency you dumb ass.
I would like to thank Eva and her son (I didn't catch his name), for sticking around even though you were done just to make sure I was OK.
And a huge Thanks to the Nurse who in her time off called me that night to see if I was doing OK as well. Seriously people . Think about it. A nurse on her own time calling someone she doesn't know. I was in awe. We cracked a couple of injury jokes and said goodnight.
I HATE PAIN.
But I love people.
Hugs and kisses.
Lyn
Disclaimer: Idiots can be anyone. If you think that I wrote this about you then you pretty much labeled yourself.
