Christov Thinks Cortisone Injections Hurt Like The Dickens

My Eyes

My Eyes

Yesterday, I drove to Franklin in the morning for magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) of my painful shoulder, hoping the diagnosis would be something other than rotator cuff tear-through.  But first, the technician wanted to X-Ray my eyes.  Chin up, to the target, stand still, hold breath, done.  No metal shavings or bits of shrapnel found.

The MRI wasn’t bad.  I’m not claustrophobic anyway, and the machine used was one of the “open” variety.  The tech made me comfortable and immobile with foam bits, rolled cloths, sandbags.  Pretty easy to relax thus supported, and since I used to find the diesel clatter of my long lost ’79 Volkswagen diesel Rabbit comforting, I was easily lulled into semi-sleep trancelike state by the machine in which I lay still.

Time to kill between finishing the MRI and consulting with the doctor; two and half to three hours.  Helpful techs told me how to find Main Street, and I made my way to Binks outdoor store off the square.  400 block of Main St.  Parallel parked with ease to the apparent astonishment of staring lunchtime patrons sitting torpid outside a sham Irish pub.  One great skill acquired in my misspent Southern California youth.

No paddling gear whatsoever in this store

No paddling gear whatsoever in this store

Binks has all of their sleeping bags and tents marked down 40%, which would’ve been great if they weren’t so high to begin with.  Absolutely NO paddling gear in the store.  Disappointed, I looked around for awhile eating some snacks I’d brought from home, and bought nothing.  Still hungry, I walked toward the square in search of something quick and light.  Stopped into one of those groovy, gritty bar/cafes catering to low-level, younger salesmen in ill-fitting suits who wish to see themselves as edgy.  Sol or Sol’s, I think it was called.  Mexican or Southwest theme.  Supertall blonde barmaid or waitress gave me a lunch menu.  I ordered a “broth-based, Mexican” soup with pork.  Not bad, it had a little too much thickener, which detracted from the otherwise palatable seasoning.

I sat at a table from which I could look out the front window at the Ben & Jerry’s Ice-Cream store or bar or whatever it is you call a place where the public buys and consumes ice-cream.  The store was closed.  Struck me as odd.  Sunny Thursday early afternoon people walking about, and the ice-cream store is closed.  I noticed a nondescript female enter and leave the building by the front door, locking it after her each time with a key she held at waist-level and close to her body.

I read part of a day-old Tennessean, mouthpiece of the local Democrat party, and particularly of the incumbent Democrat governor.  “Governer Bredesen Fires Back at Critics,” blah, blah, blah.

Time to go.  The agency that employs me has a facility in Franklin, and I drove over there to say hello to a colleague, but everyone there was out to lunch, so I stuck a note of greeting on the door and headed back to the doctor’s office.

I needn’t have been in such a hurry.  My appointment was at 2:00 pm, and I didn’t get taken back to an exam room until about 3:45.  Another 20 minutes or so before the doctor came back, and we were able to discuss the MRI.

Here’s an exchange from my Facebook profile – I’d changed my status to this blog-post’s title:

My younger brother said,

Dude . . . I had one in my elbow and thought I was going to come unglued.

My friend Cathie said,

Poor babies…try childbirth

My mom said,

Did you get one in your shoulder?

I replied, after awakening around 12:30 am with 7 out of 10 pain in my cortisone injected shoulder and wishing for Lortab or some other highly addictive pain-killer,

Yeah, my shoulder. Dr. F said he thought there might be, but wasn’t sure, full thickness tear in the r-cuff. Said if the cortisone didn’t completely clear it up to schedule surgery.

The doctor distracted me by asking questions about the slim but weighty volume I had with me – Englesma’s Common Grace Revisited. The acts of organizing and articulating my thoughts helped a lot.

Let me tell you, the pain of the injection is NOTHING compared to the pain that awakened me two hours ago and has kept me awake since. This pain eats Ibuprofen like a seven year-old eats Halloween candy.

With my right hand, I had to lift my left hand to the keyboard to write.

I was able to drive home from Williamson Co. with no difficulty or pain, but couldn’t stay awake past 8:30 pm. Woke up as noted above.

I rejoice to say childbirth is one pain I will never experience.

My friend K v K said (bee-sting? lucky guy)

I had a cortisone shot for my sciatica. It felt like a bee sting, but didn’t do a thing for the sciatica! Ugh!

10 thoughts on “Christov Thinks Cortisone Injections Hurt Like The Dickens

  1. It’s a lot better now than it was in the early morning. The really weird thing was the shivering sans fever (well, I didn’t take my temperature, but didn’t have any of the other symptoms I’m accustomed to having with fever. My doctor’s statement of diagnostic impression was:

    1. Tendinosis of the supraspinatus tendon with high-grade partial thickness bursal sided tearing. No full thickness tears or retraction.
    2. Minimal acromioclavicular arthritis.

    The acromium (sp?) has got some spurring, but not a lot of it. My restrictions are that I discontinue use of the Perfect Pushup (although it really does aid in pectoral definition), but I can use regular push-up bars. For two weeks I am to do no lifting above waist-level – nothing shoulder specific. The doctor did clear me to paddle if I feel like it. Depending on how I feel, I may assemble the E68 tomorrow and paddle Monday. I’ll just have to be careful getting the boat onto the car’s roof and off again.

  2. Ummmmm, not perfect…let’s just say much improved. Of course I’ll now have to revert to less than perfect push ups, so I guess we’ll see what happens. Anyway, I rarely remove my clothes in public anymore so it’s unlikely anyone else on the water will ever notice.

  3. Hope you get to feeling better soon.

    Don’t worry about the perfect pecs. My son was born without his right one, and he does just fine (he’s not a rower, though).

  4. Thanks! I’m feeling a lot less pain now than before I got the injection, so I think it’s working. Maybe reduced inflammation will allow the soft tissue to heal.

    Is your son able to engage in fitness or sports activities?

    At my age, my body-sculpting interest lies in minimizing fat and maintaining some sort of definition and useful muscle tone. Ha Ha. Still, I could be more out of shape.

  5. Yeah, he does everything any other kid would do, but perhaps with less strength. He is right handed and it’s his right pec that is missing. (He has the minor pectoral, which is like a band that connects from the shoulder to the middle of the ribs. It is a bit overdeveloped from compensation, so it almost looks like two collar bones on that side.)He’s played little league and flag football. He can throw straight, but probably not as far as otherwise. He’s not really into athletics anymore though. He’s into music, being cool, and his pretty girlfriend.

    I used to be all about working out and keeping up my figure. I gave up on my six-pack at age 40. Now, well, I just work hard, walk or hike when the weather’s decent and call it a day.

    I asked Paul about that poet/bookseller you mentioned. He thought the name sounded just vaguely familiar, but that’s it.

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