In the last few years I have developed serious back issues. I have been to multiple doctors, had multiple procedures, and multiple diagnostic tests. Usually, these visits have gone well. But last week was the exception.
It was a nightmare.
As most of you know, I am rarely able to get through a week without a major disaster occurring. So I was due.
The day began at 7:00 AM as I prepared to get ready for a lengthy drive to Charleston through morning rush hour traffic. That is a nightmare in itself. But we grabbed some breakfast snacks, flew out the door, and made our way to Charleston. At this particular appointment, I was supposed to have a lower back epidural to help with chronic pain. So confidently, I went into the office, gave them my name and waited for my turn to see the doctor and have my procedure.
The waiting room was packed.
Finally, they called my name, and I went to the back where a technician asked me where on my body I was to have the procedure. Now this should have been a clue that things were not going to go swimmingly. But the situation began to deteriorate very quickly when I said that they should have already received MRI results and knew where to insert the epidural. That’s when I was informed that they had received no such MRI results, and they were going to have to call the referring doctor to get them.
I quickly got on my phone and attempted to call the doctor’s office where I was put on hold for 10 minutes. I quickly hung up and called and recalled trying to get some help from this referring doctor’s personnel. But I had no luck. And neither did the technician. We just stood there and looked at each other. Panicked, all I could think of was the packed waiting room and everyone waiting for me to get out so they could get in.
Frustrated, I told her that if they couldn’t give me the epidural in my lower back, then they could give me one in my neck where they had done a similar procedure several months back with poor results. This seemed to cheer the technician, and she quickly had me on my belly on a padded table with a padded roll under my ankles and shins to keep my feet from flopping around. I was laying on a inclining wedge that caused no end of discomfort to my breast bone. She then put my hands under my belly with my arms flopping outward in an awkward position. Then she put my face into a round padded doughnut and pulled down the neck of my shirt and taped it.
As she walked around the table, she tripped over cords that were attached to the computer that the doctor was going to need to insert the needle and watch where it was supposed to go. Unfortunately, when she tripped over the cord, she broke the machine. I was unaware of that at this time.
The doctor came in smiling, joking, and making me feel comfortable about the procedure. He put plastic over my head and back with an opening for him to work. And that’s when a conversation between the doctor and the technician became interesting.
He asked her why the machine kept blinking the word “Error” over and over and then proceeded to try and help the technician figure out how to fix the machine.
I’m sorry, but the word “Error” did not fill me with a sense of well-being, and in fact, I found it a little worrisome. The last thing you want to hear just before a procedure near your spinal cord is the word “error”.
I was growing more and more agonizingly uncomfortable as this mess continued. With all the disaster of the morning this was just about the last straw.
But before I could panic and show out, the doctor told the technician to move me to the next room and we would prep all over again and then get started. So up I got as everything was removed from off my back and head. I gathered all my belongings, and down the hall we went.
Sighing, I took one look at the similar torturous table and climbed back up. The whole thing started over with her getting me into position, taping down my shirt, throwing plastic over my head, and waiting for the doctor. The doctor came in, and just before he was getting ready to insert the needle, I suddenly realized that I had not been given a previous shot with a twilight drug to help deaden the pain of the procedure.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will give you a shot in your upper back to numb everything. You won’t feel anything.”
That was a lie.
After 5 hellish minutes, the procedure was over and I was able to get off that table with nothing but a small Band-Aid stuck to my upper back.
I stumbled out to the car where my husband was waiting.
“How did everything go?” He asked.
“Well, since we don’t drink alcohol, I think I need my drug of choice to recover from the entire episode.”
So my dear husband took me to a place that makes me very happy… a pizza buffet with desserts at the end of the row.
I survived The Ordeal. Until the next one in two weeks. But there will be a pizza buffet waiting at the end.
