I got back from WonderCon a week ago last Sunday. Since the day after, I've been suffering from what my most excellent Orthopedist has now decided is a cervical strain of my left shoulder. WonderCon did not cause this, though I might have by not bringing along my contour pillow and therefore sleeping instead on a plain ol' hotel one. Or maybe, as my doctor says, it just happened then for no discernible reason — the accumulation of stresses and strains for many months and years.
That's why my knees keep reminding me I'm 63. As if getting eight ads a day from AARP doesn't do the trick.
The symptoms of my shoulder problem? Well, it's odd. I can go hours without feeling much of anything and then suddenly — again, for no discernible reason — it feels like someone plunged an 18 inch Tramontina Bush Machete into my shoulder. That is not a fun sensation. Here — I'll show you what one of them looks likes…
Ugly-looking thing, isn't it? I've been trying for more than a week to figure out what I'm doing that triggers the machete and it seems to be utterly random. It doesn't seem to happen when I'm lying down no matter what position I'm in so sleep is uninterrupted. I'm more apt to be stabbed when I'm standing up than when I'm sitting down but it always comes as a surprise…like phone calls from people selling solar paneling, a most unwelcome surprise.
Last Thursday, it was so bad that I called my doctor to make an appointment. He was away on business and the first opening was Monday at 3 PM. I took it. On Friday, the pains disappeared so, fool that I can be, I called up and canceled the appointment. Then on Saturday, the machete was back and the next day, it became excruciating.
Sunday Morning was fine but then about two-thirds of the way through the Gary Owens Memorial, I was called on to speak. I walked up to the podium, got one whole sentence into my speech and — Whammo! — down came the machete.
My first thought was not to yell or show pain. Not at Gary's memorial, not in front of all those people. Also, Joanne Worley had just spoken and I figured she was loud enough.
I managed to not yell but I thought my grimace and manner must have given away that something was seriously wrong. I looked out at the audience and the first face I noticed looking back at mine was Sergio Aragonés'. He was seated on the aisle about six rows back and he didn't look like he thought anything was wrong except that I'd lost my place in my speech and was fumbling to locate it. Okay, I thought. It didn't look as bad as I think it did. Just go on with it. So I went on with it.
Ordinarily when I give a talk of any importance, I write the whole thing out, then see how much I can not look at the paper. I try to tell it rather than read it, referring to the text only when I get lost. This time — shaken and still wincing in pain — I just read it almost verbatim. The pain subsided before I finished and stumbled back to my seat in the front row. I was able to sit there and watch the other speakers without much discomfort.
A reception and food followed the ceremony. About five minutes into it, the machete hit again worse than ever and I decided I'd better get out of there before I disrupted things. I left and drove myself to the emergency room of a nearby hospital. A gent there doing triage filled out the paperwork and told me to take a seat, cautioning me that there were many ahead of me with more severe ailments.
By now, the pain had pretty much evaporated. I decided to sit and occasionally stand for a while in the waiting room and just wait. If they saw me, fine. If I went an hour without another machete and without seeing a doctor, I might leave. After an hour of neither happening, I went back to the triage guy…
"I told you it might be a while," he said. "We just took in several people who were in a major auto accident in Beverly Hills."
I said, "My pains have gone away…not that I'm complaining. Be honest with me. What are the chances that in the next hour, I will be seen by someone who's ever been to medical school?"
He said, "About 50-50." Just then, the automated doors that led to the street opened and a frantic young man rushed in pushing an elderly, obviously ill woman in a wheelchair. It reminded me of one of the umpteen times I delivered my mother to a different emergency room. The triage guy said to me, "Your odds just went down."
I told him I was going home…which turned out to be a smart move. I had Aleve® at home and I doubt the hospital would have done a lot more than give me something like that. The rest of the day, I had no machete attacks. First thing Monday morning, I called my Orthopedist's office and I was in luck: That 3 PM slot was still open.
I had two full-blown machetes yesterday. One occurred at my doctor's office while a nurse was posing me for x-rays. (By the way: The camera loves me.)
The other was while I was waiting on line an hour later at a CVS Pharmacy, clutching a prescription he'd given me for a topical pain-killing creme. The doctor ordered that, hot compresses and physical therapy. He thinks I'll be fine. I think I'll be fine. I considered not mentioning it here but when you feel obligated to fill a blog every day, you pretty much use everything you've got.