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
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!