Glog

The Definition of Pain

Well.... where to start? It's 12:15 am. Just got back from the hospital. I have a bunch of controlled narcotics on my desk. Still have the GRE at 8am in the morning. I think I'll try and make it, only because they charged me $115 already.

I'm gonna try an write this down while I still remember. I'm just glad I can still type.

Today we had a late afternoon game in Sun Valley (5pm start). I was playing in right field as usual. We were loosing to another all Mexican team. I thik it was the top of the eigth inning with 2 outs. There was a fly ball down the line tailing away from me as I chased after it. It was falling fast and I knew I would have to dive for it headlong. The grounds we were playing on were rock hard and that factored in to what happened next. I dove, fully extended, with my glove hand outstretched as far as I could push it. The ball landed just beyond my reach, and that's when I hit the ground. Hard. I opened my eyes and my whole team was standing there looking at me. I literally blinked again and was slightly startled because I was being hoisted into the air onto a stretcher and shoved into the back of an ambulance, a makeshift sling already on my arm. I was bleeding, but I couldn't tell where (apparently cuts and scrapes on my nose and forehead). From this point on, I remember just about everything.

I was in COMPLETE pain. My shoulder felt like it had a spear pierced through it. I can't emphasize enough the amount of pain I was in. It was absoloutely excruciating. It was exacerbated by the bumby ambulance ride. Even when I kept still, the pain would not relent. I couldn't see the EMT who was sitting behind me.

"Is someone there?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm right here."

"This is killing me, man."

"I know. We're almost there."

"If my shoulder is dislocated, pop it back in!"

"I'd love too. But we have to wait for a doctor. It could be a fracture, we need x-rays."

Great. I started to wonder if I could make it to Cancun next week. I wondered about the GRE the next morning. This is not going to help my score, that's for sure.

They rolled me into a room, writhing in pain. I asked for painkillers. Someone said to wait. Then a doctor came by. It was Anthoy Edwards from that TV show ER! At least it looked like him. His name was actually Dr. Kushnell, and he had this little Hitler mustache going on. He felt my shoulder and said "This doesn't feel good. This is definitely not right." I asked if it was dislocated. And he said it probably was. But we have to take x-rays first. I asked for some painkillers. And he said he would have the technician jack me with something.

Then Fidel (as in Castro), the tech, came by and stabbed my right wrist with an IV and gave me some morphine. Didn't help. I told him so and he said he'd get me some more if necessary. Yo Fidel, it's freakin necessary! That second dose never came.

I was rolled down to radiology where another dude would position me for a shoulder xray. This was a good exercise in "how to make a yelping brown dude yelp some more". The x-ray kept coming out sloppy, he said. He took three pictures before he got it right. Of course, it felt like an eternity. Then they started to roll me back to the room I was in before. We passed Dr. Kushnell on the way and I literally threw my x-ray file folder at him with my one working arm as they zipped me down the hall (hey, THAT's how much it hurt). He looked at it right away and I was well down the hall when I heard him say "yup, it's dislocated" in the distance.

So I'm back in my original room, writhing in pain. Dr. Kushnell comes by and tells Fidel to give me oxygen (he shoves a tube in my nose). He explains that he's going to put me to sleep and snap my shoulder back in place.

"Are you alergic to eggs?" Dr Kushnell asked.

"No."

"Good, cuz this drug is made with egg whites, the one we're going to put you out with. And were going to jab you directly, not with a drip. Oh, and we're gonna need to cut open your shirt. You're only going to be asleep for 5 minutes, and we'll pop you're shoulder back in. This drug is like a truth serum, you'll start telling us all your darkest secretes."

Crap, there goes my $70 jersey. Apparently my shoulder could not be moved, so this was the only way. Secretes? Whatever. Just do it.

Some lady came by and asked me to sign a bunch of forms, including who they should contact incase I don't wake up, and any religous prefrence. I just gave them the name and number of my boss and blabbed no preference for religion.

Then Dr. Kushnell was getting ready to do a *relocation*, I guess, of my shoulder. He straped a long white sheet around his waist (looking like a sumo wrestler), as Fidel was strapping a white sheet around my back and my shoulder. It was quite the production and foreshadowed something ferociously violent. I started to feel glad that i'd be asleep during it.

Then the team Manager, Alex walked in. I asked him if we won. He said no. They basically stopped playing after I got hurt because it was too dark out by the time I got cleared out of there. He told me I passed out for a minute originally, then kept going out intermitently. That would explain why I felt like it only took ten seconds for an ambulance to get there. I told him what they were about to do to my shoulder (which didn't hurt so bad by now). Fidel overheard and said that they had already done it! I didn't even realize it. I'm pretty sure I never fell asleep. I remembered talking staight through. Fidel told me that he knew everything about me now since I starting blabbing away under the influence of the egg drug. I won't repeat what I said, it's quite shocking! But my shoulder was in considerably less pain now.

Anyway, they gave me a presciption for Vikanin and Alex drove me home in my car as his wife Angela followed. We stopped at Fatburger for dinner and the 24HR RiteAid to get my prescription filled. Didn't get home till now. The hospital put my arm in a sling. But I took it off now for bed. It also allows me to type if I rest my forearm on the arm of my chair. I couldn't get my shirt up over my head when I tried to change into my pajamas. My left arm will not move much higher than my chest. My shirt was cut open so I just let it fall to the ground and changed that way. I have a black eye (left) and scrapes all over my face. What a mess. The guys at Fatbuger thought I'd been in a car accident or was beat down by a gang, standing there with half my shirt off. The security guard at RiteAid was following me around cuz he thought I was packin' in my sling.

Timmy, hope to be back in action for your wedding. I'll be there, no worries, but hope not to be in a sling still.

So, I hope I can do this GRE tomorrow. Do I ever have a good excuse for getting a low score.

Posted by G at April 19, 2004 12:30 AM | TrackBack