I’m back from the ER, and I have some good news- no broken bones this time. Both shoulders, however, are shot, and I am going to have MRI’s done on them on Monday. They shot me full of dilaudid and gave me some vicodin and I am breaking out my old Bledsoe cold therapy device and am going to have a chairbound Ray Donovan marathon after the Steelers.
This injury today has nothing to do with clumsiness or balance issues, but was just a freak accident. I was at Joyce’s barber shop to get a trim, and I took my glasses off and went to sit in the chair, and as I stepped towards it she swung it around to help me but accidentally tripped me on the foot rest of the barber chair. I shot forward head first to the wall, instinctively tucked my right (bad) shoulder and stuck out my left to protect my head. Dislocated my shoulder and landed on the already sore right shoulder and just sort of lay on the ground for a minute and tried to figure out my next step while Joyce was screaming. She was making a helluva racket and riddling me with questions (“are you ok should I call 911 do you need an ambulance are you hurt did you hit your head should I call the EMT”) until I finally just shushed her so I could think and pull my shit together. I didn’t want to move until I took inventory of what was messed up and where. Finally got myself up and once again used a doorknob to pop my shoulder back in place. It immediately felt better back in the socket, but I felt the familiar dull throbbing ache and knew I had done a lot of damage to the soft tissue. Tucked my hand in between the buttons of my shirt to make a sort of brace so my shoulder wouldn’t move much, called Shawn and told him I was coming in hot and we had to hit the ER. Halfway home I hit a pothole that made my shoulder hurt so bad that I pulled over and threw up. I’d say it was about a 7-8 on the pain scale, because my eyes almost watered and I had to sit there for a couple of minutes and do breathing exercises. Right now I’m about a 2-3 if I don’t move, but one wrong twitch and I get a shooting pain in that is at least a 5.
Drove home, picked Shawn up, and he took me to the ER. Had X-rays on both shoulders which turned out to show no bone damage, took a shot of dilaudid to the arse, and went to the grocery store to pick some stuff up. We then drove around looking for a medical supply store to see if they had cold therapy braces for the left shoulder, but everything was closed. We did stop at the At&T store to pick up a phone charger for the car, and I was feeling kinda goofy at that point, and blurted out “You’re adorable” to this teeny tiny little 20 something. Shawn said “Don’t mind him, he’s on drugs,” and she kind of glared at him until he realized it sounded as if he was implying the only way I would think she was adorable was if I was on drugs. He then told her what happened, and she looked at me and asked me my phone number. I was taken aback and blurted out “Really? That’s all I had to do was say you were cute and you want my phone number?” She laughed and said “I need it to look up your account.” So much fail in such a short period.
I decided I didn’t want to cook, so we went to Figaretti’s to pick up some Italian, and got home and the bastards forgot my meatballs and the marinara for the calamari. So that kind of sucked.
For those of you advancing the “birds shitting on you is good luck” theory, unless I win the powerball tonight, you are completely and totally full of shit. I’m thinking I may unleash Steve in the yard to exact some revenge.
Still booze free, though, and I figure if I can make it through all this bullshit without so much as an urge, I’m feeling pretty solid about my chances for long-term sobriety. This does really suck, though. I live a really whacky life.
*** Update ***
Oh, and my Hitachi weed-eater died today while I was weed-eating knee-high grass down the block at a house that was abandoned by the owners, who made no plans to take care of the yard in their absence. It makes the whole neighborhood look like shit and pisses me off every time I walk by with the dogs, so I went to take care of it and over-heated my weed-eater, but not before burning myself on the exhaust and melting a hole in my shorts. Maybe I should just stop leaving the damned house.