California Schemin' - Kate George [27]
Within twenty minutes Steve was at the door. I was dressed and had my medical card and cell phone in my pocket, but my shoes were untied. For the life of me I couldn’t make myself try and bend down. Steve took one look at me and shook his head.
“You look like hell. Why didn’t you call an ambulance hours ago?” He bent down and tied my shoes. “Get in the car. I’ll feed your animals, and then we’ll go.”
I sat in the car trying not to cry. Every move I made hurt worse than the last. Forget moving, I hurt just sitting still. When Steve slid into the driver’s seat I had my hands clenched in my lap trying to maintain. The first bump we hit caused my neck to feel as if it was on fire. I cupped the sides of my neck, trying to keep everything stable.
By the time I whooshed through the emergency room doors I would have given anything to be unconscious. I couldn’t think straight, and it was hard to keep the tears out of my eyes. Steve’s uniform got me through triage in record time. There are times when it’s really handy to know a cop. Steve elected to stay in the waiting room when the nurse came to usher me into a glass fronted room. She pulled the curtain to give me some privacy and told me a doctor would be there shortly.
I sat in a chair usually reserved for family members. The thought of trying to lie on the gurney was too much. Lowering my head would use the muscles that were already screaming at me.
The doctor was young, but he was gentle with his hands and kind.
“What have you been doing?” he asked.
“Pulling down a ceiling and then putting a new one up.”
“A lot of work above your head,” He nodded. “That’s typical. You’ve got a repetitive motion injury. Tort Collis; a muscle spasm in your neck. A little Valium, anti-inflammatory and time will take care of it. Oh, and get some physical therapy.
“Really?” I asked. “I have to do PT? That’s a pain.”
“If you want to get better and stay better, you’ll do PT. What’s the problem with that?”
“Appointments. Remembering them, taking time out of my day, driving to them, waiting around for them to be ready for me. It’s a pain.”
“Not as bad as that pain in your neck.”
I swallowed the Valium with difficulty, for some reason swallowing set off the spasm in my neck. A male nurse came in and asked me to drop my pants.
“What?” I asked.
“The anti-inflammatory is an injection. It stings, and it will make your arm hurt for a couple of days. You’ve got more muscle in your butt, and it’ll hurt less, but if you’d rather I’ll put it in your arm.”
I figured I was in enough pain and dropped my jeans.
“Whoa,” he said. “That’s plenty far enough, believe me.”
So I took the shot in my rear, and Steve took me home.
Even after I’d taken the muscle relaxer and anti-inflammatory, I wasn’t pain free. I was most comfortable sitting straight up, and I thought it would distract me to go down to the Star and work. The only problem with that was I couldn’t turn my head. I might be able to work around that one, but I’d also taken Valium. Driving while impaired wasn’t my style. I found a heating pad and hobbled upstairs like an old woman.
I was flat on my back staring at the ceiling. The Valium/Tylenol combo was wearing off, and the pain was coming back. I knew I should force myself into the bathroom to take some more; it just hurt so dang much to move. I also needed to pee. The pain I could ignore for a while, but the full bladder required immediate attention. I rolled onto my side, winced, and then I was off the bed and on my feet.
I shuffled into the bathroom, trying not to jar my neck or shoulder and did what I needed to do, which was to take the dang pills and empty my bladder. I contemplated the shower. The hot water would feel good on my neck, but the washing and toweling off part wouldn’t be easy. I could feel the Valium kicking in, making me sleepy again, and decided against the shower.
I rolled back into bed trying for a comfortable position. It didn’t matter if I stretched out or curled up, my neck would not give an inch. I ended up