Pain, pain, go away

Unfortunately, the rest of the lyrics are “Come again some other day”.  That day was yesterday, for me.

I’m typing this with my left foot awkwardly propped up on top of my desk, to minimize the “day after” pain from my (hopefully) now solved foot issue.  This is not a crying jag based on my woe-is-me suffering from the more extensive knife work.  Having seen what my Mom went through during her time with cancer and knowing of many other truly suffering people, I would never insult others with such whimpering.  I do find my current position and…discomfort…of idle note (as well as in the forefront of my mind).  Since this blog is mine to ramble as the mood suits me, this is what you get today.

I may have stated this before, but let me make sure the record is clear:  I’m a baby when it comes to pain.  Thankfully, one of the benefits of living alone is no one else has to hear me whine.  Interestingly (at least to me, so you have to suffer through the telling), it’s really only a specific pain that makes me whine.

Give me a bruise, strain, pull or other bone or muscle issue and I’ll “play through”.  In my mind, that’s almost a badge of honor, since those incidents usually derive from some form of activity and I can build an enormous (exaggerated) heroic story around the injury.

Give me something to do with nerves, though, and you better bring me the crying towel.  I’ll moan over a cut on my finger more than a pulled groin, even though the latter is considerably more painful and of longer duration.  As a point of fact, give me cuts and punctures of any type and I head to the wimp zone.

Over time, I’ve mastered some of that almost involuntary reaction.  I give blood regularly, though I can’t stand needles (I still prefer to look elsewhere during entry).  Whether in reality or in my imagination, I am extremely sensitive to these types of pains.

I am blessed with a short memory for pain.  I don’t recall much of the most painful times of my life.  I can scarcely remember the broken toe in college, the snapped tendon in my 30’s, the shoulder surgery in my 40’s.  Of course, this is a mixed blessing, because each new pain then becomes so startling as to seem even more painful than perhaps if I had recollection to compare it against.

So when it came time to inject me with the lidocaine to numb my foot for cutting, it was the pricking of the needle more than the burning sensation that lingered most.  And perhaps my sensitivity is not all imaginary, for I needed a second injection before my feeling actually dissipated to the point I wouldn’t feel the knife going in (I am constantly amazed by the minds that have studied the human body so well as to develop these miraculous drugs and treatments).

Hmm, I seem to have gotten off point.  Not a new thing for me, but you should have been forewarned by any blog that calls itself “ramblings”.

Anyhoo, I asked the doctor if I could still attend the Marlins home opener tonight.  She told me I probably could, but I should bring a clean set of bandages in case I needed to change my dressing.  Her face, though, was saying “I don’t think it’s the best idea”.  I called my friend and told her she should pick someone else for the game, which was a bummer, since I hadn’t missed a season opener in more than 15 years.

Later in the day, when the lidocaine wore off, I was absolutely convinced that was the right decision.  Boy, you should have heard me moaning to no one!  Wow!  Ouchies!  I thought about writing a blog then, but it would have gotten in the way of my whimpering, so I just watched some movies in my (thankfully) reclining couch.  That was reasonably distracting.

I’m sitting here now and feeling the throb in my foot and wondering how whiny this blog makes me sound.  Not that I’ve shown any reluctance to expose my flaws to my adoring public, but really, an entire blog on my foot hurting?  Seems like a waste of my time and yours.

If ever there was a time for you to speak up and tell me to change the subject, now is that time.  One of you readers needs to put your foot down.  Because I sure can’t.

(C’mon, tell me you didn’t see that coming)

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