Friday, July 31, 2009
Nope, I'm not talking about that fabulous 80's rock band that brought us such classics as "We're Not Gonna' Take It" and "Burn In Hell", I'm talking about the current condition of my own back.
*cue the ominous music signifying horrible news*
I have somehow, in the midst of my everyday job (which sometimes consists of lifting some of the more elderly people in the MR group home that I work at), re-arranging the garage, walking a Siberian Husky for KC who works all the time so the dog has next to zero manners and tugs my freaking arm out of my socket, working on making a studio space so I can be consistent with my artwork again, and building the better mouse trap (okay, maybe not that but it sounded good), I have twisted multiple muscles in my lower back.
I found this excruciating piece of information out after ski daddling to the nearest UTC (Urgent Treatment Center) after losing an entire night of sleep Wednesday night from back pain and then doubling over in the shower after being assaulted with some pretty hardcore muscle spasms. I'm one of "those" people who treats going to the doctors office much like walking before a German firing squad and has to be near deaths door (or crippled much like I mentioned before) before I'll seek medical attention. Terrible habit, I know, but I'm working on it, so cut me some slack.
The mechanics of a doctors office are sadly lacking. I was in the examination room for 3 1/2 hours. I only spent about 15 minutes actually in the presence of other people. I was left in a tiny, sterile room with 3 year old magazines discussing various terri-fucking-fying illnesses and some of those tongue presser thingies for company. You are NOT allowed (according to the blue bloody million signs posted) to talk on your cell phone. Call me crazy, but this doesn't seem like the best way to encourage people to come back. Ostracize, scare, release. Then they take your blood pressure (incorrectly) and marvel that it's high. Hmmm....imagine that? (I nearly bit my sarcastic tongue off, mind you)
I'm just dumbfounded that people who make such insane amounts of money like doctors aren't a tad bit more encouraging and friendly. My doctor wasn't MEAN, he just seemed....dead inside (much like Zombies, but instead of brains they crave insurance)
Maybe it's the hours, maybe it's the number of chronically ill people they provide service to, but it all seemed so bleak. My advice to the clinic? Paint the walls something other than institution white, leave PUZZLE books instead of medical magazines for patients to pre-occupy themselves with. What about a TV? I understand the importance of creating awareness, but for most people, introducing them to new illnesses while waiting to treat their current one, can't exactly be considered the path to enlightenment. ESPECIALLY, if they're sitting, alone, in a strange environment.
I'm sleepy. My thoughts are muddled. Damned pain killers.