Cry like a Baby or Grimace like a Butch? Part 2

As a follow-up to this morning’s post, I want to update you on how it went at the foot specialist. If you haven’t read my first post from today, I encourage you to stop now and read that one. Then come back to us when you are caught up. We’ll wait for you – go ahead.

Hi! You’re back. Cool.

So with all of my coping mechanisms in place, we headed into the doctor’s office. First the nurse, then the PA, and finally the doctor came in to see us. The doctor said as he was about to leave the room, that they would get me set up for the Fluoroscopy-guided injection, and then he walked out. I tried to listen to the PA, but, honestly, the tears started to stream down my face. Drat. She grabbed me a box of tissues and I tried to keep it together. Then we were off to the special room with the scary equipment in it, including an “oh shit” bar hanging over the bed. It really warmed my heart to see such a bar. Ugh. My gorgeous fiancé did a great job of distracting me and I got dried up before anything started to happen. The plan was that I was going to focus on her and she was going to tell me about things in Barcelona that we should see next month when we are there. I tried to focus on her, and I did. I can’t tell you anything about the places she mentioned – other than there is a church that is “very big” and some “sort of gargoyle thing we should see.” Also, I am sure that I squeezed her hand way too hard. Good thing she is tough.

The injection hurt. A LOT. Much worse than I remember in my wrists. I am told that the foot is the worst place for a cortisone injection. I believe it. That is the bad side. The good side is that the pain I felt, as severe as it was, only lasted for a few minutes tops. Provided that I get good relief from the stuff, it definitely falls into the category of the pain of the injection being outweighed by the, hopefully, long-lasting relief. We shall see.

In the meantime, I can report that I did cry (maybe not like a baby, but more like a tweenager), and I did grimace like a butch. I know that I was grimacing on the table as the tears fell. So I guess I did both. After the procedure, here is how this butch copes.

1. Get driven safely home by someone hot and sexy, and not on Ativan. My gorgeous fiancé handled this one for me, so check!

2. Stop to take your favorite “butch lunch” home. For me, this is a spicy chicken melt sandwich on jalapeno bread. It’s delicious and so, so very spicy. It makes me feel extra butch. Don’t forget a chocolate milkshake. Hey, I would give one to my kids after a morning like I had – why can’t I use the same approach? Besides I don’t want to mix a beer (my milkshake of choice) with Ativan.

3. Lie on the couch and relish in the fact that I made it through! I am butch, so no need for anyone to be with me, and I sent the gorgeous fiancé back to work stat. There may be times when I would want her here with me if I wasn’t feeling well, but this is one that I can handle myself. All is well here on the couch, with my pillows, my water, my PS3 controller, the remote, my tablet, and my laptop. And I know that for later, a nice La Fin du Monde, my favorite Belgian style tripel brew, waits for me in the fridge.

What do you know? Blogging made me feel a little better before the procedure and its making me feel a little better afterwards too! Thanks for reading!

It’s butch to take care of yourself and it’s also butch to admit when you need a little help. Be butch.