I devoted about three minutes to creating a snappier title. A couple few song titles or lyrics modified to include themes of the past couple days. “I adore, mi Toradol,” for example (yeah, I used to enjoy listening to Color Me Bad, fuck you). “The drugs don’t work (they just make me burp),” another. Why bother?
I went with ‘Pressure,’ not because of my comfort with its Grunge Era feel, or that said era was possibly the only time I’ve been ‘cool’ in my life. Rather, the title fits with this post’s theme. Plus, it’s hard to be creative within the constraints of fact-checking. For example, until recently I thought the Chicago song “Fight for your honor” from Karate Kid Part II lyrics went some-it like, “I am the man who will fight for Yurana…” You know? Cuz the chick was Nihongo-jin/Okinawan? For the longest time I thought Louis Tully (the Ghostbusters’ trial lawyer/bookkeeper) said, “Your Honor, ladies and gentleman of the audience, I don’t think it’s fair to call my clients frauds. Sure, the BLACK GUY was a big problem for everybody. I was trapped in an elevator for two hours and I had to make the whole time. But I don’t blame them. Because one time, I turned into a dog and they helped me. Thank you.” I would laugh hysterically every time, to the chagrin of family and friends. But come on, “The black guy” referring to Ernie Hudson, “was a big problem for everybody.” Comic gold. He actually says, “black out,” but who’s counting? Mine was funnier anyway. I don’t need shit heads writing in to criticize getting minor facts, like lyrics or quotes or whatever, wrong. Blame “Hugh/Gay Sex” and “Stetson.” I do.
Alright, enough of that shit. Bad pain couple weeks. Really bad during a primary care appointment this week. The asshole doing vitals didn’t permit me to rate my pain - she rated my subjective pain level at a 7, which is wrong for a host of reasons. My pain was severe enough to elevate my blood pressure to 170/110. I was given a Toradol push right there in the exam room. Didn’t do much, but I appreciated the effort.
Given new information, I now doubt my candidacy for the spinal nerve implant. I finally managed to squeeze some peer-reviewed lit through the barracks’ firewall. (Spinal implants can cause sexual side effects. The firewall blocks sites containing naughty words, like ’sexual.’ Heaven forbid we catch a glimpse of an internet booby. Or have access to PubMed.) I belong to multiple groups who, according to the longitudinal data, don’t respond well: Complex Regional Pain Syndrome Type II (a/k/a Causalgia), Depression and or Anxiety, >6 months between trauma and treatment, stomach problems regardless of cause, and chronic pain averaging higher than 5 on a 10 point subjective scale. I intend to try it anyway. There aren’t many options left. But it’s possible, maybe probable, the outcome won’t be all it’s been built up to be.
