Physical Therapy

You guys know I am pretty open on here about everything. I mean, I talk about my vagina. All. The. Time.

 

And puking. And having sex. And even peeing myself.

 

But there is one thing I am still pretty hesitant to talk about. And that is pooping and farting. I’m actually blushing just typing those words. I don’t know why I am so weird about that and apparently nothing else. It would make more sense for me to be shy about some of those other things.

 

My sister J loves to talk about those two subjects. And I do for her sake. Pretty much constantly. And it doesn’t embarrass me to do so with her. But with most other people I shy away.

 

So I have been putting off on telling this story for over two years.

 

You guys probably remember me falling down the stairs and hurting my back.

 

Well, the first thing I did. After having an allergic reaction to my steroids and staying the night in the hospital. Was to go see a physical therapist.

 

I had never been to one before and had this idea in my mind of what it would be like. Based 100% on movies. Which are really the best thing to base everything on, right?

 

So, if movies taught me anything it’s that my physical therapist would be a sexy but tough woman who would help me learn to walk again. She would be firm but fair. I would be in intense pain. We would fall in love. Cue to me haltingly taking my first steps into her open arms. End film.

 

Turns out my physical therapist, J, was a very attractive lady. Who was happily married with two kids. Also, she was maybe five feet tall. For those of you that don’t remember, I am six feet one inch.

 

So I meet her and explain about how I hate people touching me. As I do the first time I meet any doctor or person that has to touch me for their job. I like to set the right tone in my relationships.

 

J takes me back to one of the therapy rooms and does an examination of my back and has me bend and stretch and do all sorts of things. Just to see what I’m about. And what I am about is that I do a lot of yoga and she said she was impressed with how flexible I am. For my height (whatever that means).

 

She has me lie down on this little bed that looks like a weightlifter’s bench. And she’s telling me what she wants to do to help me with my back and my pain and all.

 

I’m cool with it. So I tell her to go ahead.

 

She reaches under me and kind of wraps one arm around me in an awkward way. Her hand is directly beneath my spine. My arms are crossed over my chest.

 

With absolutely zero warning, she throws herself down and kind of propels herself onto me. She was like a tiny WWE wrestler trying to take me down.

 

Two things happened at once.

 

She knocked the wind out of me. And…she knocked the wind out of me.

 

I farted. So long and loudly that there could be absolutely no mistaking what had just happened.

 

Despite my extreme mortification, I also immediately started laughing. Because I am an immature child.

 

She was very mature about the whole thing and pretended to not realize what I had just done. So she stood there over me, arms crossed. Patiently waiting for me to stop.

 

But I couldn’t. This was our FIRST meeting. I had known her for all of 10 minutes. This physical therapy was not going as planned. But most things don’t.

 

After a solid 10 minutes of me laughing so hard I couldn’t speak, my eyes filled with tears and my face getting redder and redder. I finally stopped.

 

She had barely cracked a smile. I don’t know how she managed it. But once I finished she just kind of nodded and said “Shall we?” And got back to it.

 

I saw her every week for over a year and she was kind enough to never bring it up. Ever.
And I did my part by making sure that little incident was never repeated. Ever.

Back (look I did a pun or is it a double entendre?)

Soo….. I am back.

Like, really back. For real.

I know what many of you are thinking. And frankly, you’re all a bunch of pervs.

But seriously.

Something pretty bad happened and it’s taken me a while to feel capable of being funny about it. But I think I’m there now. Lucky for all of you.

I am sure you all remember that time I fell down a flight of stairs and hurt my back. If not, feel free to read about it here.

So, I recently had to get a new MRI. My back pain has been getting worse. And my doctor wanted to see where we were. I mean, I knew where I was. In lots of pain.

When the results came back my doctor sat me down for a serious talk. My disc is herniated and pressing on a nerve that goes into my groin. So she asked me, “Are you having any issues with incontinence?”

Now, you guys all know that I totally am. *cough cough* Here.

But like any responsible adult, I lied my ass off to my doctor.

She explained to me that incontinence is a sign of serious nerve damage. And that if I am experiencing it then I would need to see a neurosurgeon about getting back surgery.

Nothing like being threatened with surgery to get the truth out of me. So I told her I was having issues. Needless to say, my doctor was not pleased. Hell, I wasn’t pleased.

She also told me that my vertebrae were also pressing on my spinal cord (called spinal stenosis and is a result of the disc herniation). And that, untreated, it could cause me to become paralyzed.

And some combination of those three things are causing my constant back pain.

I’m not sure what my response was at that point. I believe I may have bragged about winning the genetic lottery. I know it isn’t fair to rub that in people’s faces but I really am a sore winner. And then I got the hell out of her office so she couldn’t see me cry. 

She referred me to a pain management doctor to see about getting shots in my back for the pain. And she referred me to a neurosurgeon to see about getting back surgery.

I left her office and cried for basically the entire day. I also texted a bunch of my friends some whiny self-pitying bullshit. Sorry, friends!

But then I started joking about trading in my body for a robot body. Like, a sexy lady robot with 8 foot long legs and laser gun arms. And I had to admit, that was pretty cool. But unlikely.

More likely was that I would be paralyzed and get a wheelchair. So I started thinking about that instead. But my wheelchair was going to be bitchin’. I wanted like, a glow in the dark human skeleton frame. And I would knit and embroider all the panels and spokes. And maybe carve some Enochian spells from Supernatural into it.

That wheelchair would be cool as fuck.

That night I lie in bed and thought. It’s not like back surgery would be worse than five heart surgeries. It’s not like being paralyzed would be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Not even death was scary to me. I had already made my peace with it years ago.

So what was the big deal?

Turns out nothing. I waited for my doctor’s appointments and tried to pretend like I was fine. Not facing the reality of my life is a finely honed skill. And I am on some expert wizard level at that.

But, I found out this week that my neurosurgeon wants to wait on back surgery. My pain management doctor wants to put some needles into my spine (which sounds metal as all hell).

And now I am just waiting to make sure I’m not allergic to the drugs I’ll get pumped full of. Which would be my luck.

In reality, nothing much has changed. My back doesn’t hurt worse now that I have names for my problems. And I’ve been making a lot of pretty dark jokes to everyone about it.

So I am back!

And I decided to dye my hair grey to match my tired, shitty, old person body. That story will be next!

Steak Knives

I am sure all of you guys enjoy these stories. But, you may say, these stories are from years ago. What have you done to humiliate yourself lately? How can you say you are an idiot if you have learned your lesson? Well, number one: You are very presumptuous. Two: I am definitely still an idiot. And three: This story happened Friday night.

 

Being that it was a Friday night, I was out with my brother. (Where else would I be? A date? Ha!) We decided to go out to eat at the restaurant where I fell down a flight of stairs.  This restaurant is so fancy. It is the kind of place people go to dress up and celebrate milestones.

Actual balcony of the place.

Except my brother and I usually show up in shorts, flip flops, and dumpster t-shirts. Dumpster t-shirts are shirts my brother and I dig out of a dumpster near his house. It is almost solely the only thing I wear when I am not at work. And they are amazing.

 

But this restaurant does not treat us like the hobos we generally look like. And we always ask to sit outside. My brother, T, is loud as fuck and we generally discuss things that are inappropriate for polite society.

This is basically how we dress.

Friday night we were sitting out on the balcony. He doesn’t follow my blog so I was talking about my vagina post. Right before I said the word “vagina” our waiter walked up and I immediately stopped talking. He was new and I didn’t want to offend him.

 

But he seemed offended that I had stopped my conversation. So he dared me to continue my story. I started talking about vaginas again. The waiter stopped smiling and whipped his head around him, paranoid that someone else would hear. That’ll teach him to dare me to talk.

 

I ordered a steak and they brought me out a very fancy and sharp steak knife. It was a JA Henckels, which is the same brand I use at home. I can’t believe anyone trusts me with knives. Even myself, sometimes.

Look at these sharp little bastards.

When the steak came, the waiter decided to wait to make sure my steak was cooked properly. I hate having an audience when I am eating. I wish they would just walk away and come back or something.

 

In fact, I hate it even more when the manager comes over and asks how my meal was. You know what? If it was bad, you would already know. Let me eat in peace!

 

I cut a piece of meat, took a bite, and set my knife down on the side of my plate. What happened next was a series of events I could not possibly have predicted would happen.  Despite my ability to destroy everything.

 

I guess I put the knife too close to the edge of the table. It slipped off the table and clattered onto the balcony floor. Before I could even begin to reach for it, it slid between the wrought iron fence railings and onto the awning below us.

 

I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, it was out of my reach. But at least it was on the awning and hadn’t hurt anyone. In fact, it was probably for the best that it was out of my reach.

 

And then, in slow motion, I watched in helpless horror as it slid off the awning and down into the busy parking lot below. Where we were seated over the entrance to this fancy and popular restaurant. On a Friday night.

20141010_185235

Here is the whole set up. The table edge, the balcony, the awning, the parking lot below. And of course my sexy, sexy knee.

I didn’t even think to call out to warn the people below. I just sat there, struck dumb at the improbability of the whole thing.

 

Thankfully, it landed harmlessly on the asphalt. As soon as I saw I wasn’t going to inadvertently murder someone I began to laugh. I still had a piece of steak in my mouth, I had forgotten it was there in my moment of suspense. Now I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t chew it.

 

I could not stop laughing through the rest of our meal.

 

As we were leaving, I approached the manager. “Hello.” I said innocently.

 

He looked at me and squinted. “Why do I know you?”

 

“I fell down your stairs last year.” I explained.

 

“Oh, that’s right. How are you?” He eyed me up and down, looking for signs of my ailing back.

 

“Well, I feel fine but I just dropped a steak knife off your balcony so I am pretty sure I am going to be banned from here at some point.”

 

He laughed. “But nobody was hurt. So it’s okay.”


I walked out to the parking lot and looked up at where I had been sitting. I learned an important lesson. I should not be trusted near ledges. And I should never sit over the entrance of that building ever again.

April Search Terms

Guys, I have had a shitty week both emotionally and healthwise. I had really only planned to do one post about my search terms. But I think it is going to turn into a monthly segment. Because this shit is amazing. And reading them made me feel better. And I haven’t written anything because I am working too much this week too.

 

Thank you for the search terms. I love all you weirdos.

 

Nacho Taco Bell- I keep hoping that if I talk about them often enough, they’ll talk back to me.

 

Chest Pain Felt Through the Back- This sounds serious. Probably something for 911 instead of Google.

 

Speculum- Have I ever even talked about speculums? Probably, actually. Knowing me. I always thought they looked like guns.

 

 

 

Pew! Pew!

 

Urination- I bet my mother would be so proud.

 

I got off the toilet and I got back pain- Listen, I may be old and falling apart. But I’m not at the point where I injure myself in bathroom related incidents. Yet. I swear, I really did fall down a flight of stairs. Sober.

 

Sex videos I wanted to fuck the meter reader- Should I be flattered? Concerned? I feel like I am disappointing so many people with the lack of porn on my blog.

 

I like fairies- I think we all do, my friend.

 

Back pain after falling down stairs- There were several variations on this. Story of my life right there.

 

Dogs breath smells rotting potatoes- Lots of things smell like rotting potatoes on the internet, apparently.

 

Sexy math- ALL math is sexy math

 

Cute Billy Boyd- I keep hoping if I talk about him often enough, he’ll talk back to me. Sorry for disappointing whoever was expecting to see some pictures of Billy Boyd. But let me make up for it now.

 

 

 

Sexy neaud (sic) doctor fingering pics- I don’t get the sexy part. Or the horrible spelling part.

 

I watched as my little sister peed in the cup- I think we’ve all been there. Or is that just me and this searcher?

 

I miss my period for a month and when I use the washroom I am passing sherik (sic) of blood sometimes- Once again, probably something for 911 instead of Google. I don’t know how much a sherik is, but it sounds dangerous. And vaguely Middle Eastern.

 

My character crush is fucked up- I am kind of offended this took you here. YOUR crush might be fucked up, but mine is totally normal.

 

How to stick a suppository up my boyfriend’s ass- The same way you’d stick anything else up his ass, it’s pretty self explanatory.

 

Naked woman that’s had heart surgery- Um…I’m not naked. At least as far as you know.

 

Gag sister story- Wow. Yeah. I’ve never gagged my sister. I don’t think I have ever even talked about gags. I mean, till now.

 

Fucking a stuffed animal that came to life- This is possibly illegal and you should take way less drugs before fucking your stuffed animal/actual animal. Or is this an idea for a movie, like that Mannequin movie? Because it is still kind of horrifying.

 

I need to die but can’t- Don’t worry, you will definitely eventually die. Unless you are immortal. Please be immortal.

 

Publix is shit- No it isn’t. You are wrong ma’am or sir. Publix is amazing.

 

Ingering (sic) gives me pain on the hip bone- I keep saying this in a sing song-y voice in my head. I like it. Thank you.

 

Male teenage suppository administration stories- I really feel like this more oddly specific porn searches.


Underwear for hematoma- It would be really cool if they had underwear that looked like you had a hematoma. Right? It’s going on my list of money making schemes.

 

 

Back Pain

It was a warm and rainy Sunday night. My brother and I had made an innocent plan to have dinner together at one of our favorite restaurants. This restaurant is above another restaurant, up a flight of stairs.

We went up the outdoor staircase and saw that this restaurant was closed on Sundays. Disappointed, we turned and headed back down. About halfway down the stairs I slipped on the wet stone and fell down about half a flight.

falling down stairs

Me, only less breakdance-y.

I landed on my left wrist and tailbone. Hard. My right wrist was caught in the railing as I actually had been holding on to the bannister when somehow I fell.

When I landed, I was in so much pain that I couldn’t think or even breathe. My necklace broke and I watched as a piece of turquoise tumbled down the steps to the landing below.

My brother put his arms around me and I (like a total ass) yelled at him, “Don’t touch me!”

I sat there for a minute trying to decide if I was ready to just give up on life and just die right there. A car turning out of the lot pulled over and the people asked if I was alright. Turns out they had seen me fall. Excruciating pain with a side of humiliation, thank you.

When I decided to continue living I got up and figured I could walk it off. I was tough. And I had muscle relaxers. I figured the pain would be bearable by the time I went back to work on Tuesday. It wasn’t.

I tried to get some sympathy from my co-workers. But they are all men. My boss gave me his classic response to “rub some dirt on it.”

So I went to my doctor and he sent me to get an X-Ray and then an MRI. Turns out I had herniated a disc on my lower back and had a second one that was bulging.  He prescribed some drugs for the pain and a steroid pack.

herniated-disc-mri

Totally what my back looks like.

Take that, co-workers! I was in real pain over here. I had an official diagnosis and everything.

I had taken several steroid packs in the past for strep throat so I didn’t think anything of it. I started taking the drugs my doctor prescribed.

After two days of steroids I came home from work and took my shirt off to take a shower. My entire chest was a bright and angry red. I walked out of the bathroom and flashed my roommate.

She asked if I had gotten a sunburn. I told her I didn’t see how I could have through my shirt and bra. I decided I was having an allergic reaction to the steroids and stopped taking them.

The next day I began to feel sharp shooting pains in my chest. This is a particular cause of concern to me as I have had five heart surgeries. That’s when I decided it was time to go to the hospital.

I made the drive to what I consider to be “my” hospital. And sat in the ER waiting area for several hours. Despite my history of heart problems, they didn’t seem particularly concerned about my chest pains. They never even did an EKG while I was actually feeling the pains.

While I was waiting I noticed a nurse working the ER waiting area. I couldn’t tell if the nurse was male or female. He/she was cute either way. I sat watching him/her for a long time trying to figure it out. Then I realized it didn’t really matter as I was attracted to him/her.

The floor doctor decided to admit me over night. But I threw a major fit and demanded to have another EKG. The cute nurse came over and told me she (yes, she) would be administering it but that I needed to be patient.

Instead I yelled at her and made her stop what she was doing and give me an EKG right then as I was currently feeling the sharp shooting pains. She was very sweet and took me to a private room. Everything turned out to be fine. I asked to be released, which the floor doctor was all too happy to allow after my irrational explosion.

At this point I idiotically decided I had nothing left to lose and found the cute nurse and gave her my number. I figured she’d already seen me naked from the waist up and knew what she’d be getting into. She very graciously accepted my number, which I definitely would not have in her position. But she never called, not surprisingly.

And that’s how I managed to be complete dick to the first girl I ever decided to hit on. And then  somehow still think I had a chance with her.